


All Cops Are Bastards

by Dragon_and_Direwolf, TheScarletGarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cop!Jon, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Fluff, I mean that was the prompt at least but you will see that things are never as easy as they seem, Illustrated, Immigration, Jonerys, Modern Politics, Modern Westeros, Original Artwork, Poverty, Riots, Smut, You've been warned, a fic that is not too kind to cops, all that political stuff, criminal!Dany, gentrification, urban guerrilla - Freeform, you've been warned again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23838697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/pseuds/TheScarletGarden
Summary: “Commander Mormont has praised your skills during the undercover operation north of the Wall,” Thorne hummed. “It was a success, efficiently dismantling the wildlings’ organisation, what was the name again?”“The Free Folk,” Jon supplied.“Right, whatever. We thought it could be worth a shot to try and replicate here what you did there.”“You mean for me to go undercover?”“That’s exactly it. These riots are organised. This kind of persistence cannot just casually happen.” Thorne leaned back against his chair, sighing heavily. “Tell me what you know of the Dragonpit.”
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 286
Kudos: 439





	1. The Dragonpit

**Author's Note:**

> A few months ago someone asked for a cop!Jon and criminal!Dany artwork to Dragon_and_Direwolf. She wasn't too sure how she felt about it, but we started thinking about a way in which Dany could end up being a criminal without making her terribly OOC. In the end, we both agreed that justice and law are two very different concepts, and that sometimes they can be at odds with each other.
> 
> Writing by TheScarletGarden.  
> Artwork by Dragon_and_Direwolf.
> 
> Betaed by LustOnMyFingers. ❤️

The acrid stench of smoke rendered it impossible to breathe without experiencing fits of coughing, despite the handkerchiefs and balaclavas everyone was wearing. Shrieks and shouts, the noise of glass breaking loudly, and war-like chants in the distance. No time to think, no time to observe. Only the hand that brandished the truncheon, and the taste of bile in his mouth.

* * *

For weeks, Jon nursed the bruises on his body and the last remains of his cough after the police charge he participated in. It had been much more violent than what he would have expected, the rioters fighting back with all their force and homemade explosives. The guerrilla had gone on for days, but eventually, the police had managed to placate it. _It’s only a matter of time before it will start again, though._

“Stark,” Commander Thorne called, “In my office, five minutes.”

Jon suppressed a sigh, dread already rising in his chest. He hated spending any amount of time in the company of the Commander, and he knew the feeling was mutual. If Thorne called him into his office, Jon could be sure his day was about to take a turn for the worse.

Nonetheless, he obeyed.

“Sit,” Thorne nodded towards the chair in front of his desk. “I have a task designated for you, in regards to the Dragonpit riots.”

When Jon had situated himself, Thorne let out a sneer, surprisingly not directed at him this time. “Those fucking vermin. We’ve been beating the shit out of them for _months_ , now, and they always rise again. We need to change our strategy.”

Jon nodded, silently signalling that he was listening and inviting Thorne to continue.

“Commander Mormont has praised your skills during the undercover operation north of the Wall,” Thorne hummed. “It was a success, efficiently dismantling the wildlings’ organisation, what was the name again?”

“The Free Folk,” Jon supplied.

“Right, whatever. We thought it could be worth a shot to try and replicate here what you did there.”

“You mean for me to go undercover?”

“That’s exactly it. These riots are organised. This kind of persistence cannot just casually happen.” Thorne leaned back against his chair, sighing heavily. “Tell me what you know of the Dragonpit.”

“Uhm, a poor neighbourhood. Immigrants, foreigners, low-income workers, students. It has always been like that, but the population in the neighbourhood boomed after Flea Bottom underwent the requalification program. Many moved to the Dragonpit. The riots started when Lannister Corp. bought some buildings in the area if I recall correctly.”

“Yes. They cleared the buildings of the fucking squatters that lived there illegally, so they could make something good out of that place. And the riots only intensified after this political campaign started. Elections approach closer, and we can’t afford to let these criminals transform the city into a war-zone. We have underestimated them.”

“You mean to dismantle them from the inside?”

“This is what you did with the wildlings, right?

“Yes, ser.”

“You’ll do the same here. Infiltrate them, learn all you can, give us what we need to put a fucking end to all this mess. They like to call themselves the Unsullied, but there’s been talk of this _Dragon Queen_ that is behind it all. We don’t know much more so far, so this is why your mission is so important. Sheer violence hasn’t taken us far, we need to be smart.”

“Of course, ser. When do I begin?”

* * *

His temporary accommodation smelled of piss and was so humid it made him sweat double the usual, but he couldn’t risk anyone seeing where he truly lived. For a few days, he just got acquainted with the apartment and the neighbourhood, exploring, observing. There was much more quiet than what he had expected, but the walls were covered in graffiti and plastered with flyers instigating the people to _fight_.

Jon studied them carefully. Despite the incitement to meet up and participate in the public assemblies, there was never a date or a place mentioned, so he found himself at a loss. He kept exploring and searching, camouflaging his quest with the facade of job hunting.

“New here?” they would always ask him, searching his face intently. “It’s not easy to find a job here, lad, but try at the harbour. There’s always someone in need of the labour of strong arms like yours.”

“Thank you.” Following the advice, Jon headed to the harbour, even as his eyes kept on searching for _something else_.

Going undercover was a long, patient job. Too much rush and the cover could blow, putting him at serious risk. He had to gain the trust of his targets before he could obtain the information needed to beat them. It was a difficult task, one that required skills that not everyone in his field possessed. Jon was good, they all said back in Winterfell. Commander Mormont had even stated he was one of the best he had met in his career.

As he thought of Ygritte’s crooked smile and fiery hair, he often wondered if there was truth in that.

Shaking the intrusive thought away from his mind, Jon kept searching at the harbour, asking around for occupation until someone directed him to an old man tying ropes on a weathered boat swaying just beside the pier. Davos, the man was called, grey beard and kind blue eyes on a face wrinkled by age and the sea.

The man observed Jon for a few long, unnerving minutes, smirking slightly under his beard. “You sure do love to workout, eh, lad?”

“I like to keep in shape,” he shrugged.

“That’s good, that’s good,” the old man clicked his tongue. “But life at sea is not an easy one. You need muscles, but you mostly need brains. Patience. Endurance.”

“I like to think I’ve got all that, ser.”

“Please, call me Davos,” he laughed. “You’re making me feel even older than I am. And what is a man of the North doing in a place like this, eh?”

Jon shrugged again. “There wasn’t much left for me in the North. I thought I would start again somewhere new, but it isn’t easy.” It wasn’t technically a lie, only a half-truth, one that still burned a hole in his chest.

“Aye… a story I’ve already heard numerous times,” Davos sighed. Jon worried, for a moment, that the man suspected his words, but there was only kindness in his eyes. “There’s another lad already working for me, a young man much like yourself, but… the work keeps increasing, even for the two of us.” He took a pause, sighing deeply, a worried frown pulling his eyebrows together. “Alright, I’ll tell you what. You try tonight. If I like you, and I’m sure I will, we can make it work for the season, see how it goes.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“I forgot one thing, lad,” Davos said, suddenly grave, scrutinizing him with a piercing gaze. “Strength, brains, endurance, but two more qualities are needed in this job.”

“Such as?”

“First, complaining is for wussies,” he said, holding up one finger, soon followed by a second. “And second. _Trust_ is everything. I don’t like big mouths and gossipers, and if you see something you don’t like, you turn the other way and keep your mouth shut. Is that clear?”

“Of course,” he nodded, keeping his expression schooled even as a thrill ran down his spine. He suddenly had the impression he had moved his steps in the right direction, and that he might discover something interesting by accepting this job.

* * *

Jon had been working with Davos and Gendry for a few weeks, falling into a regular routine that was even somewhat pleasant. They would exit at sea at night when it was the darkest, and work until dawn, where they would sail back to the coast and sell their findings to the local market. The pay was meager, but still enough for the three of them, and Davos and Gendry were pleasant company. Then, Jon would dedicate time to his real job, exploring, searching, questioning, all the while trying to keep his cover. So far, he didn’t feel like he was making too much progress, but still, he kept patient, never relenting in his quest.

He would return to his piss-stinking room in the early evening, trying to get a few hours of much-needed sleep before the cycle began anew.

One night, Davos spoke to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and lowering his voice. “We have… a bit of a different job tonight. I like you, lad, and I think you’re smart enough to keep to yourself. Tonight, that is more important than ever before. We won’t be carrying fish.”

“What, then?”

“You’ll see.”

Jon kept quiet, helping to direct the boat where it needed to be directed. At some distance from the shore, Davos turned off all of the electronics, leaving them to sail in the dark, until he turned off the engine as well and lowered the anchor. “Me and Gendry will take the rowing boat. Jon, keep guard here. Don’t touch anything, don’t turn on anything, especially not the lights or the GPS,” the old man ordered. “If someone approaches, make yourself look busy. Or asleep, whichever you prefer. Turn on the lights only if other boats approach so that we can know not to come close. Is that all clear?”

Jon nodded.

“Wonderful. We’ll be back.”

And so, he waited, adrenaline forcing him awake despite the tempting lull of the waves. He carefully searched the boat in the meantime, making sure to leave everything the way he found it, lest Davos and Gendry would suspect something, but he couldn’t find anything interesting.

He was quietly rummaging in the boat’s small command cabin when he heard what sounded like the faint echo of an explosion in the distance. Startled, he searched in the darkness to see if he could catch sight of smoke or lights or anything amiss, but there was nothing.

Heart thumping loudly in his ribcage, he kept waiting with bated breath, squinting his eyes until he could see the faint outline of the rowboat, after what it felt like an eternity.

He tossed ropes at it, Davos and Gendry catching them and tying the boats together. It was just then that Jon realized the rowboat was full of… people.

“What-” he breathed, but Gendry jumping on the boat stopped him. Together, they helped the people up the ladder, eight in total plus Davos, figures soaked with seawater and huddled in mottled woolen blankets.

“Gendry, fetch those thermoses we’ve prepared. They need something warm to drink.”

“What we need, Davos, is to speed the fuck out of here,” a stern, feminine voice called from beneath a blanket. Even in the darkness, Jon could see the faint glow of white hair peeking out of the pretend cloak, a shine like moonglow to it.

“You heard the lady, Jon. Back to the shore, _now_. Only switch on the engine, not the lights yet. Y’all, follow me. Better to hide below deck, just in case.”

Everyone soon disappeared, following Davos’ directions. Jon hurried to do what he was told, switching on the engine and setting to sail towards the coast. He was startled when he felt a presence beside him and turned to see dark eyes studying him.

“You’re new,” the woman from before spoke, a sliver of wariness amidst the curiosity in her tone.

“Jon,” he said, recovering from his stupor and reaching out to shake her hand. “I started working with Davos three weeks ago.”

“I see,” she hummed, shaking his hand with a strong, warm grip. Her skin was pale and soft against his own. She was clad in tight black clothes, covering her entirely except for her hands and face. And her face was… _gods_. Plump lips, a perfect nose, big eyes under expressive brows. Even in the darkness of night, he could see she was _stunning_. “You can call me Dany.”

“Dany…” he tasted the name on his tongue.

“Dany!” another voice called from behind them, another woman clad in a blanket, dark skin and black tight curls. “I haven’t checked on you yet.”

“I’m fine, my friend,” she called, a warm, breathtaking smile spreading across her face.

Davos appeared beside the two, holding up a thermos from where inviting steam drifted. “It won’t be long before we reach the shore. Here, drink. I see it was a success.”

“We must expect consequences, though.” Dany took a pause, drinking a sip of the hot beverage Davos was offering her. “You didn’t tell me you took someone new, Davos.”

“Oh, yes, Jon. He’s been here three weeks already. We need all the help we can get as the situation grows worse.”

“How much does he know?”

“Nothing except what he saw tonight, Dragon Queen.”

Jon perked his ears at that, heart leaping in his throat. He couldn’t believe his luck that he found the infamous Dragon Queen even the idiots at his precinct had heard about. He chanced a glance at her again, a bit stunned that she would look… like this. He had expected some imposing, fearsome woman, older, maybe, not a young tiny lass, looking so frail and delicate. And yet, there was nothing _frail_ in the way she looked back at him, steel in her eyes, the colour impossible to discern in the darkness.

“I can see your curiosity, Jon…”

“Snow,” he lied.

“Jon Snow. A common name in the North,” she mused, moving closer and perching herself on the boat’s console right by his side. The blanket fell from her head, revealing in full the shock of silver hair. Even bound in a tight braid, some wavy tendrils had escaped, now framing her face. “You see, Jon Snow, these are… hard times, I’m afraid. The people you saw, the ones you’re helping us bring to safety, the fucking pigs at the government wanted them _out_.”

“Out?”

“ _Immigrants_ from Essos,” she spat. “Nevermind that some lived here in King’s Landing their whole lives. They dared to protest Baratheon's rule, and for that, they were about to be kicked out of the country.”

“I heard something like an explosion, before,” he chanced, hopeful that she would keep talking.

“A diversion,” she smiled. “It’s not easy to break into an Identification and Expulsion Center.”

 _Gods_ , he thought. He accepted the thermos she was now offering him, leaving control of the boat back to Davos, the hot coffee awakening his senses. This night was truly his lucky win. To get so close to the Dragon Queen in a little more than three weeks of undercover work was a stroke of luck more unique than rare. He knew he had to take as much advantage as possible from the situation.

He smiled, slow and sure.

“I think that’s admirable,” he said, measuring his words. “What are you going to do now?”

The Dragon Queen bit her lip, crossing her arms over her chest around the blanket that still wrapped her. “What we did tonight is just the beginning. Now we need to help these people. Most do not have a place to go.”

“They’re not many. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find a place.”

“Others escaped,” she countered. “We separated to make our outbreak easier, but we’ll reconvene. I have a responsibility towards these people. If the police catch them-” she shuddered.

“I want to help,” he said, trying his chance. “I’ve lost someone dear to me because of the police.” Again, it wasn’t a lie, just a half-truth.

The Dragon Queen’s eyes softened slightly, her lips mellowing into an understanding smile. “You’re already helping. No doubt you will have many more opportunities to do it in the coming weeks. Just stick close to Seaworth here,” she said as the boat approached the shore, Davos and Gendry already maneuvering it into place and tying the ropes tightly.

Together, they helped the fugitives down the boat. Dany and her dark-skinned friend lingered behind, directing operations, but when everyone was gone they disappeared, too.

“Well, lads,” Davos said, rubbing his hands together, “It’s still a long way until dawn comes. Back to the sea, that fish ain’t gonna jump on our boat itself.”

* * *

When Jon next checked in with Thorne, the Commander had been absolutely _furious_.

“They blew up the fucking door and made _thirty-three_ people escape! And I swear to the gods, Stark, if you don’t get to find out where exactly these vermin are hiding-”

“I will, Commander,” he promised, grimacing as he tore the phone farther from his poor ear. “I am making promising progress. Now that I found the Dragon Queen, I only have to gain her trust and infiltrate her organization.”

“Good. Don’t fuck this up, Stark. Baratheon is on me these days, this accident isn’t helping his campaign. With all the funds he gave to the department… we can’t fuck this up.”

It wasn’t every day that Thorne let himself sound so openly stressed. Jon _almost_ felt a pang of sympathy for the old bastard, before he remembered exactly how much they disliked each other.

“Thirty-three people…” he muttered to himself when the call ended, letting out a tired sigh. Things were bound to escalate after such an _accident_ , as Thorne had called it. They had to retake control of the Dragonpit quickly, and they were relying on him.

Luckily, he only had to wait a couple more days before Davos unknowingly solved his dilemma. The old man seemed to like him well enough, to trust him even, and soon embarked both him and Gendry in another of his _missions_.

“No fish for the market today, lads. We’ll bring it all to the manse near the Iron Gate.”

“The abandoned one?”

“Not anymore,” Gendry gruffed. The young man seemed to be involved with the Unsullied, as well, but was more tight-lipped than Davos on the matter.

It was smuggling crates of fish inside a rotten building that had once been magnificent that Jon discovered exactly where the fugitives were hidden. _Talk about a lucky strike_ , he thanked the gods, for this information was sure to change the sorts of this small war.

For a brief moment, he wondered if _she_ would be there to greet them.

It was a stunning tall, black woman that did so, though, a silk skirt of the Summer Isles under a worn cotton t-shirt with a faded logo. Her long hair was styled in thick rope-like braids, fluttering heavily around her waist.

“Chataya,” Davos greeted with a warm smile. “We brought reinforcements.” He nodded towards their cargo of food, but the woman barely shifted her gaze.

“Good. This way.”

They followed her silently inside the manse, carrying a couple of crates each. A few young men soon scurried towards where they came from to pick up the rest.

Jon quietly observed his surroundings as he walked, noticing the graffiti and the writing covering the peeling walls of a long corridor, from where thresholds opened that once must have had doors, since the hinges were still visible. He could see rooms that were illuminated by lone lightbulbs, mattresses on the ground, but also real beds, couches, tables and chairs. The furniture was mismatched and old, some of it half-broken, some painted in bright colours.

“How long have they been here?” he found himself asking.

“Mhh, not much,” Davos answered. “This place has been occupied up until four years past, but then the police cleared it. It was empty before we brought the refugees here.”

“The ones we carried the other night?”

“Them, and others. Those you saw weren’t the first.”

Jon didn’t know exactly what he had expected to see, but it wasn’t this. More discipline, maybe, not the scurrying children that almost made him trip on his feet. More grimness, even, but someone was playing the guitar somewhere and a few people were singing in a tongue he didn’t recognise, and all in all it felt almost cheerful, despite the poverty of the place. And there was an inviting smell like-

“Can’t make fish soup without the fish!” Davos yelled happily, grinning like a madman as he lifted his precious cargo to make it seen just inside a room.

“Dear gods, it feels like I haven’t eaten anything else in _weeks_ ,” a familiar voice called back. Approaching, he saw the same woman that was on the boat with Dany, her dark curls like a halo around her head now that they weren’t wet with seawater.

“Whiner,” Davos playfully quipped, as a few younger guys moved to take the crates from them and bring them farther in what looked like an impromptu kitchen.

“It doesn’t look too safe,” he muttered to himself, furrowing his brows at the old appliances.

“We deal with what we have,” someone replied from behind his back, startling him into a slight jump.

When he turned, the Dragon Queen herself was smirking at him, clad in a stained apron. “People have to eat, Jon Snow. That’s the priority.”

“Of course,” he sputtered. How had she sneaked up on him like that?

“It’s good to see you here,” she commented, leaning on her side as she appraised him in a way that made him fidget nervously.

“I said last time that I wanted to help,” he said, regaining his composure.

“That’s very good to hear,” Dany smiled. “I bet you’d look pretty fetching in an apron.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her cheeky remark. As he followed her, he felt his tension dissipate a bit, although his eyes still studied the place.

It looked like a soup kitchen of sorts, the most haphazard he had ever seen, the air growing hotter as they neared the numerous pots and pans bubbling over the stoves.

“Camp stoves?”

“I told ya we gotta make do,” she said, tossing him an apron.

He fiddled with the pale flower-printed fabric, raising an eyebrow at her amused expression. “I won’t be wearing this.”

“You must be fun at parties,” she laughed, rolling her eyes. “It’s just an apron, Jon, it doesn’t bite.”

He didn’t know exactly if it was her teasing smirk or the twinkle of mirth in her eyes that made him surrender, but he was sure that her bright smile was enough of a prize for wearing the horrendous garment. He even found himself chuckling at her antics until a voice in his head scolded him, at last reminding him that he was supposed to _focus_.

But what better occasion than being listed to cook right beside the Dragon Queen?

“Davos was telling me that you reoccupied this place just recently,” he started, feigning a superficial interest as he was enrolled to clean fish and vegetables for the soup.

“Yeah, as you can see we’re still decorating,” she quipped, a note of sarcasm in her voice. “Can you believe the nerve of the pigs? They’ve been prattling about not having enough homes for the homeless while this once perfectly fine manse has been left rotting for _years_.”

“It doesn’t look exactly accessible in terms of safety, Dany.”

“And it is their fault,” she sighed as she chopped a carrot. “When people first occupied the place, over ten years ago, the building wasn’t in such dire conditions. Not optimal, sure, but still a much better fare than not having a home. The guys actually fixed it up a bit, installed the heating, made the bathrooms somewhat decent. The city council tossed them out without even batting an eye, in the hope of selling the place. Apparently, having squatters in a building ruins its market chances,” she scoffed. “And guess what? Nobody bought it, and now its value has dropped anyway because it’s been left to rot all this time. Nobody won, everyone lost, but still, they won’t let people use this place for free.”

“I didn’t know all of this,” he murmured. He had still been in the North at the time, and both Thorne and the newspapers he researched told quite a different story. “Do you live here, then?”

“No, I have a flat six blocks from here. If I don’t get evicted, that is.”

“Why would you?”

She shrugged. “They already did it with a few other buildings around. Requalification, they call it, but they basically kick out the tenants and when all is done and ready the rent has gone up tenfold. I can’t afford much more of what I currently pay.” She nodded towards a group of people on the other side of the room, engaged in animated discussion. “Some of the people you see come from there. They suddenly found themselves without a roof over their heads, and here we are.”

“But the city council gave options, I believe. Popular housing. Why don’t they go there?”

She laughed bitterly, making him frown. “Yeah, popular housing. Not nearly enough and so far on the outskirts of the city that many here wouldn’t be able to keep the jobs they have. Plus, this proposition comes from the same pigs that have plastered the whole city with that _The Westerosi first_ bullshit. They don’t really want to help us.”

Jon bit his lip, mulling over her words as he kept cutting vegetables and stirring soup. There had been many occasions in his job where things didn’t go as planned, but he was almost shocked now that he had talked with the Dragon Queen and heard her reasoning. He had expected talks of power and political agenda, not of survival. And nothing like the sheer vulnerability that flashed in her violet eyes as she talked of her fears.

He wanted to hear her talk more, and not just because he had to. He suddenly found himself genuinely curious to know more about this surprising woman, painted as a criminal by his Commander. He wanted to _know her_.

“Don’t you have citizenship?” he asked.

“I wish,” she sighed. “I’ve been here seven years but they’re not enough to make a request, I’m afraid, even if I was born in Dragonstone.”

“That’s in Westeros. Why-“

“It is. My mother was a refugee from the disaster in Valyria. She didn’t stop there for long, though, so I spent my childhood in Essos.”

“Where in Essos?”

“Everywhere,” she said. “There was barely a place safe enough to stay for long as refugees. Braavos for a few years, then Volantis, Pentos, Astapor, Meereen… I was with the Dothraki for a while, roaming the Great Grass Sea.”

“You must have seen a lot,” he mused.

“I sure did,” Dany smiled, slow and charming. Gods, she was beautiful. She had the kind of face that could make even the most level-headed of men lose the faculty to speak. Jon didn’t consider himself to be a shallow man, and surely wasn’t one to be swayed by pretty faces, especially while doing his job. But her smile… he had to remember how to breathe, a flush spreading on his cheeks.

And _shit_ , she had entirely noticed it, if her smug smirk was any indication.

“I’ve never been in Essos,” he said, clearing his throat, trying to diffuse the sudden tension he felt. “It must be beautiful, but too hot for me. I still am not quite used to the climate in King's Landing. Before coming here, I’ve only ever seen the North.”

“Maybe you would like Braavos, then. It’s north enough so it’s never too hot. The city is beautiful,” she said, a note of longing in her voice.

“I would like to see it,” he replied, his voice growing thick. Taking all his chances, he blurted out the next question before he could overthink it. “What do you do when you’re not busy fighting the government?” The rational part of his mind tried to reason that it was for the job, to get closer to the Dragon Queen in order to get information, but there was a different truth held in the way she shook her head in delight, laughing brightly at his less-than-subtle flirt.

“Just normal stuff, I suppose… I’m afraid I have a boring life, if you don’t count, well… this.”

“I can’t imagine you being boring.”

Dany laughed again. “Afraid so. I’m a waitress at the Red Velvet Keep, you know, the fancy coffee shop in Nymeria Square?”

“Oh, I know the one,” he said. It was some hipster establishment in the rich part of the city, made famous because it appeared to be some internet beauty guru’s favourite spot. He couldn’t remember the name, but Sansa had gushed about it the last time she came to visit him.

“Everyone knows it ever since Margaery Tyrell has started promoting it. The price of a coffee is outrageous and the place is always packed to the brim, but they still pay us like shit. Enough to afford rent in the Pit, though. Place’s not big, but enough for me, my roommate and my cats.”

“A roommate?”

“You’ve met Missandei,” she said, turning off the stove under the huge pot they’ve been cooking with, and calling out to the people around them that the soup was ready.

The more time he passed here, the more bewildered Jon grew. He had imagined the rioters to be more structured, with all the times Thorne had compared them to organised crime. The Free Folk at least had some sort of hierarchy, ranks and orders and a semi-military organisation. But this was just… it looked so _improvised_ , Jon was surprised they had managed to give so much trouble to the police.

And for the infamous Dragon Queen to be a young waitress… oh, Thorne was going to have a stroke. The thought made him chuckle under his breath.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, grinning.

“Nothing,” he smiled. A wild idea crossed his mind, and before he could properly ponder on it, his lips were already forming the words. “We should go out sometime.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she fought to keep a pleased smile at bay. A flush crept on her cheeks, though, the sight almost stealing his breath away so lovely it was.

It was a bad idea, he instantaneously knew, probably the worst idea he ever had so far. _It will be a good source of information. You’re focusing on your duty_ , a weak voice in his head tried to reason, but he could feel it was half a lie.


	2. The Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by LustOnMyFingers and Enygma0710. ❤️

They agreed to get coffee together, some place in between Flea Bottom and the Dragonpit that hadn’t yet inflated their prices.

It was an old establishment, not very noticeable from the outside, with decor that might have been at least twenty years old, but Dany had insisted that they made _the best coffee this side of King’s Landing_ , and considering that she worked in a coffee shop herself Jon took her word for it.

He sat at a small table beside the window and waited for her, trying to think in advance on the best way to get valuable information without drawing her suspicions. If there was something he had understood in their brief interactions so far, was that Dany - _Daenerys_ , she had said her full name was - was smart and observing. Jon wasn’t scared of that, though. He had fooled intelligent people before.

A familiar painful lurch squeezed his heart at the unbidden thought of Ygritte. It was not even that sense of missing her, as it did in the beginning - years after her death, what consumed his heart was _guilt_ , powerful, tremendous guilt. And it made him feel even more like a monster that the guilt was all that was left of their love, of his betrayal.

 _It was my fault_ , he shook his head. _I let love overcome my duty. But I won’t make the same mistake twice._

A cheerful voice called his name, and he turned to see Dany approaching. She was wearing a yellow summer dress, her hair loose and down her back in soft silver waves. It was entirely unfair, the beauty of her making him feel slightly dizzy like he was nought but a green boy who’d never seen a beautiful woman before.

He already knew she was stunning - but he had never seen her look so soft, a slight blush on her cheeks as she smiled at him, happy that they were having what was meant to be, without any doubt, a date.

“I hope I haven’t left you waiting for long,” she said, sitting across from him. “The bus was slow today.”

“You’re not late,” he smiled back, hoping that that would make her feel at ease. She relaxed into her chair.

“So, what does the expert recommend?” Jon asked.

Dany carefully considered his question, leaning her elbows on the table and resting her chin on top of her hands. She bit her lip as she pondered, which almost distracted Jon from his own query. “You look like a Gunfire guy.”

“Oh, yeah? What is that?” he asked, arching a brow.

“Black coffee and rum. I’m kinda surprised you don’t have it in the North,” she quipped, teasing.

“Ah well, we call it the hunter’s coffee.”

Dany quirked a brow at that, amused. “So, did I guess it right? Are you a Gunfire guy?”

He laughed at her eagerness, half-tempted to disappoint her just to see her pout. But she had guessed his tastes fairly well, and when he placed his order to the waiter she regaled him with a proud grin. When she smiled that wide it made small dimples appear on the sides of her mouth, only slightly. Her eyes crinkled, and they seemed to shine a brighter purple.

The nervous tension he had felt before their meeting disappeared, leaving a different turmoil in its wake. _Focus, Jon_.

“You didn’t really tell me what made you come to Westeros.”

“Oh, where to begin,” she sighed, taking a sip from her cup with a pensive expression. “You see, my family fled from the eruptions in Valyria while my mother was pregnant with me. I’ve been travelling my whole life, never really settling down. King’s Landing might be the place I’ve been living in the longest. They first fled to Dragonstone, where I was born, but soon it was back to Essos and just… a mess.”

She shook her head, her face morphing into a sad smile. “The refugees were so many, and as you surely know, there has been more than a civil war in the continent in the past twenty-five years. Any time it seemed like we could build a life in one place, something happened that made us move again. Whether it be war or immigration policies… it’s been hard,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said with sincerity. The pain in her voice was still clear even if she was trying to sound nonchalant, shrugging every few words. “What about your family? Are they living here as well?”

“No,” she said, casting her eyes down. “My father and my eldest brother Rhaegar died in Valyria. My mother grew tired of running. She settled in Braavos, but she isn’t a citizen. It’s difficult to find jobs there, especially at her age. I try to help her the best I can, you know, sending her money. My brother Viserys is… still wandering in Essos, I suppose. I don’t really know what he’s up to half of the time, but he spends some time with my mother every few months, checks on her. I came here to sustain them as well as myself.”

“With a waitress’ wage?” he blurted out, stunned.

In all response, she shrugged yet another time. “I work a lot of extra hours.”

“That’s… I’m sorry, Dany. It must be difficult.”

“Many people have it even worse than me, which is why I joined the Unsullied. They were the ones to help me find a home and get all the right documents for work when nobody else cared.” Her smile tightened and she let out a small sigh. “But enough talking of these things. What brought you here from the North?”

“A change of scenery, I guess.” He shifted in his seat, moving to take a sip of his drink to organise his thoughts and focus on his answer.

Even if his carefully crafted background story left him no space for improvisation, Jon always felt tense when he needed to lie to keep his cover. But there was no way to avoid personal questions forever, especially when he was trying to gain Dany’s trust. Experience also taught him that the best lies were those built on the truth. “As I told you when we met, I lost someone dear to me in the North. Ygritte… She was a Free Folk.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Dany exhaled, immediately catching on the implications. What happened with the civil war in the North was well-known even this far South. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

“Thank you. I just… couldn’t stay there after what happened. So I came here,” he shrugged, mimicking her careless body language from before. “Found a job. Met you.”

That stole a slight smile from her lips, a blush creeping on her cheeks. “No wonder you want to help,” she murmured, although her pleased expression lingered.

“Aye, something like that,” he said.

Guilt had always been a constant in his life and especially in his job. It was like having a feral animal living inside of him, trying to eat at his sanity. He had learned to live with it, to suppress the feeling with the grit of his teeth and to keep doing what duty demanded, but… sometimes it bit down a little harder. He tried to hide his wince.

Dany was smiling at him, a smile so bright and sweet it only heightened his pain.

The truth was that Jon _hated_ lying. Thorne was convinced that he was a good undercover agent because he didn’t care about spreading lies, but old Mormont had known the truth. Jon would do what duty demanded, even if it hurt him, because he could carry the weight on his shoulders. He was strong enough to do what was needed, and bear the constant feeling of damnation that came with it so that others could keep their hands clean while doing the job.

He could face the loss.

_But she didn’t know. She didn’t want to die. You betrayed her, and she died._

Unbidden, his hand went to soothe the scars he bore from over his clothes, eyes pinching shut for the briefest of moments. It was like a zing in his head when it happened, a flash of a headache immediately gone.

Present long enough for Dany to notice, though.

“Hey,” she called with a soft voice, her warm hand covering the one he still kept on the tabletop. “It’s ok, Jon. I’m sorry.” She let out a slight chuckle, eyes twinkling with _understanding_. “Look at us, being all broody and gloomy when we should be having fun.”

“I’m sorry,” he weakly said.

“Don’t,” she assured him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Come, let’s get out of here,” she smiled. “There’s still happiness to be found today, even if our memories haunt us.”

In that moment, Jon hated himself, what he needed to do to her.

He struggled to keep at bay the bitter taste of self-loathing, but he forced a smile and deflected her proposition. “Maybe another time. I need to make a stop at home before I go to the harbour.”

“Alright, another time, then,” she smiled. “I’ll count that as a promise, yeah?”

_If only Dany knew the truth, she would hate me too._

* * *

“What do you mean you need _more time??_ ” Thorne shouted from the other side of the phone. “Stark! We don’t have time! Baratheon is on me like a dog on a bone!”

“I know, ser, but I’m getting closer to the head of their organisation,” he explained, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Jon loathed interacting with the man, especially when he was angry. _Which is most of the time anyway._ “I’m making steady progress, Captain. We could dismantle the whole organisation with minimal disruption.”

“See that you do, Stark,” he growled menacingly before ending the call, leaving Jon in a frustrated turmoil. He sat on the edge of the bed, letting out a heavy exhale.

He was stalling. He could have given Thorne a lot more information than what he did. He knew her name, where she worked, even where she lived. He had walked her home after their date, lingering in front of her building’s door, forcing his gaze not to fall on her lips. She had kissed him on the cheek, biting her lip and leaving him with a wink.

 _I’m just doing it because the information is not enough._ If they wanted to arrest the other organisers as well as Dany, he had to get closer to Missandei and Grey and Chataya. He didn’t know much about them yet. _Yes, I’m just aiming for the best result. Patience is a virtue._ He seemed to hear Ned’s voice giving him his little bouts of wisdom, the things he loved to say to his children.

His father had always respected the law. He had been a cop, too, before he was killed during an operation. It was why Jon had decided to become a cop as well.

He always wanted to be like his father.

_And yet…_

Jon groaned, raking a hand through his curls in frustration. Another voice cut through his head, clear and soft, tinged with passion and concern. A voice he recognised. _But where will these people go, Jon? Someone has to care._

* * *

The following month was rather uneventful, as far as his investigation went. The situation at the Dragonpit seemed much more quiet than before, although a simmering tension lingered just beneath the surface.

Jon could see it at the squat, small groups of people discussing animatedly, lines of worry on the faces that surrounded him almost every day now. He could see it in the streets, in the politically charged graffiti that bloomed around the neighbourhood overnight and the flyers that accused the city council of waging war on the poor through gentrification, and the government of spreading racism to gain votes. He could hear it in the half-sentences muttered around, interpretations of the political climate that were so vastly different from those he was used to hearing, that considering it just a change in perspective felt reductive.

Still, nothing really seemed to happen. He had now managed to gain some level of trust from the Unsullied and was quite involved in their projects, that so far mostly consisted of giving shelter to a rapidly growing number of homeless people. Jon was sure more than half of them didn’t have documents.

Nobody would ask for documents at the manse, though. They would barely ask for a name before giving out second-hand clothes and some food. Jon spent much of his free time talking to those who were fluent enough with the Common Tongue, trying to understand how they ended up there, growing more bewildered as their stories varied so vastly.

Whenever he wasn’t busy keeping his job with Davos as a cover or helping at the manse, Jon found himself spending progressively more time with Dany. He was surprised to find her so eager to see him, the bossy demeanor of the Dragon Queen melting like snow under the sun during their dates. The steely resolve that had made an impression on him on their first meeting was always there though, just underneath her soft smile and bright eyes.

Her eyes were truly the most beautiful he had ever seen. Purple like glittering amethysts, big and bright and _honest_. Jon lost himself in that gaze more easily than he would care to admit.

But if her beauty was a test to any man with eyes, it was her good heart that weakened his resolve the most.

Far from the power-hungry criminal Thorne depicted her to be, if Jon had to pick one word to describe her, it would be _caring_. It shone through her every action, her every word, just how much she cared about the people she was trying to help. And even though he hated that she was breaking a few laws in doing so, making her technically a criminal, Jon soon admitted to himself that he _admired_ her.

It complicated things beyond imagination.

Dany clearly didn’t have a clue about his turmoil. She flirted shamelessly with him, uncaring of the many eyes usually surrounding them. Not that people seemed to care, although Jon took note of Missandei’s cheeky grins to her friend.

Every morning, Jon promised himself to keep his distance from Dany. He had enough information on her anyway. And yet, one smile from her was enough to make his resolve shatter into pieces, leaving him speechless and pliable in her hands.

They went on more dates, growing closer by the day. It was like an irresistible pull, a call he couldn’t refuse, beckoning him to seek her presence even though he knew it was probably a huge mistake. But it meant little when they walked together by the seaside, their hands barely grazing as the soothing sound of the waves washed his worries away.

She surprised him every day with how much they had in common. He could see in her what his sister Arya had always accused him of doing: Dany carried the weight of responsibility on herself even when she didn’t need to. She thought she ought to take care of the people who met her path. Jon was rendered speechless by this truth, after so much time spent theorising on what type of person this unknown leader of the Unsullied was and their determined quest for power.

“When did you become their leader?”

“Leader?” she chuckled. “I wouldn’t call myself the leader. I couldn’t have done it alone, after all.”

“Well, everyone thinks you are.”

“Yeah… I can see that,” she murmured, biting her lip. “It’s a responsibility. They took care of me when I first came here and I needed the help. Now I’m just paying back in any way I can,” she smiled. “I don’t know if I can call what I have _power_. But I am determined, and these people have all chosen to follow me in the attempt to take our fight to the next level. I am grateful for that, but… it’s a huge responsibility.”

She looked weary most of the time, he noticed. He hadn’t seen it at first, but now Jon could recognise that weight in her eyes, similar to the one he bore.

He hated it. He wanted to see her smile, not gnawing her lip in apprehension as more and more people poured in the squat and the food had to be managed for it to be enough for everyone.

“Have you ever seen the Dragonpit?” she suddenly asked.

“Of course I have.” It seemed like a silly question, considering how the old ruins dominated the neighbourhood they gave the name to.

“I mean inside. Have you ever been inside?”

“Isn’t the access forbidden?”

“Oh, Jon,” she laughed. “Like that has ever stopped me.”

She took his hand, grinning mischievously, walking with him until they found themselves close to the old ruins. High metal barriers separated the antique monument from the streets and the buildings around, yellow no-trespassing signs attached to them.

“I know a way in,” she whispered, tugging him along in a narrow alley. It took them farther from the monument, at first, but then it winded back again and brought them behind it, where buildings came closer to the old construction. “See? Nobody ever comes here and so they didn’t put up barriers.”

“But it’s… a solid wall, Dany.”

“Not really,” she winked, squeezing herself inside a slim opening he had missed at first, far against a decrepit-looking residential building. “Come on!”

Shaking his head with slight amusement, he followed her. There was a narrow passage in the stone, full of cobwebs hanging. She giggled nervously, grasping his hand, crouching low so that they wouldn’t touch her.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders,” he teased.

“Shut up!” she laughed, pulling him forward.

“You know, we don’t have to do this if they make you uncomfortable-”

“It is worth it,” she said, her body visibly relaxing as they exited the passage, finding themselves out again in the open. She gestured grandly around them, grinning from ear to ear. “See?”

There was a wonderful quiet in the Dragonpit, the city’s noises so distant they could be easily forgotten. The stone building was in shambles, but it didn’t take much imagination to see how magnificent it must have been, in the past. Back in the days when dragons were alive, and their riders dominated the lands, flying on the massive beasts and pouring fire from above.

The sand crunched slightly beneath his boots as he took a few tentative steps in, observing the rows of concentrical arches and the skeletal remains of the dome that enclosed the mythic beasts.

Above them, the dark sky full of glittering stars. In the distance, the golden glow of the city.

“It’s amazing,” he murmured.

Dany stalked away from him, to an alcove on the side of the building. In the dim light, she rummaged between the debris until she found something that made her grin in triumph. “Give me your hand,” she said. When he offered his palm, she placed a small, smooth skull on it.

“A dragon,” she explained, noticing his surprised expression. “They took away all the big skeletons for the museum, but some of the small remains have been left behind.”

“How did you find it so quickly?” he asked, gently caressing the black bone.

“I left it there. Sometimes, when I need to think, I come here.”

“You could have taken it with you,” he observed.

“I was tempted to,” she shrugged, “But it didn’t feel right. Its place is here. Who am I to decide it doesn’t belong in these ruins?”

There was some sort of wistfulness in her voice that gave him pause. She looked almost melancholic, for the briefest moment, but when she turned to face him, a sweet smile crept on her face. Jon gave her the skull back, his fingers grazing against hers. They both lingered in the touch, and she blushed, before moving to bury the skull where she had found it.

They didn’t speak as they made their way back, their fingers grazing closely as they walked. Somehow, Jon could feel a shift had happened, but he couldn’t quite place where. Was it in the air between their bodies, crackling with a sort of electricity that wasn’t quite as charged before? Was it in the twinkle in her eyes, in the upturn of her smile?

Later, when he finally laid alone in his squeaking bed, he realised it might have taken place inside of him, right under his scar. It felt like a cloud around his heart, as light as the sky and yet turbulent. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the little thunders in his chest.

_Stormborn, they call her. How apt._

He found it challenging to dissect what he felt. He could see his guilt, growing bigger and more monstrous by the day, so terrifying it made him short of breath. Admiration, that he already knew, shy at it may have been but there nonetheless. He admired her, and it made the guilt only worse. For he had to do his duty, that nagging voice in his head constantly asking _what would father do_ , that rigid honour he had learned ever since he was a child and that didn’t leave too much space for moral ambiguity.

The strain of this analysis of his heart was so much that it made Jon feel sleepy, finally, brows furrowing in a last attempt to grasp his thoughts, to pair them with his emotions… but the _longing_ escaped him before he fell asleep.

* * *

In the following days, Jon kept up his newfound habits as nothing happened. He went to the manse almost daily, ears perked, trying to catch as many details as possible about what was going on with the Unsullied.

New people were pouring in every day, so much that it made Jon wonder if they would soon need a bigger place. He was starting to be more able to distinguish the languages spoken in the place, to differentiate Valyrian from Ghiscari, the Summer Tongue from Ibbenese. He had even picked up a few words in Dothraki. Some people were Common Tongue natives, though. He had been surprised to hear the posh accent of the Crownlands from a few of the residents, and he had promptly investigated.

He talked with the sex workers and the construction workers, with the unemployed and the college students. He talked with the renters and the few well-off people that came to help anyway. And the more he talked, the less he investigated. Soon, it was genuine curiosity that motivated his questions, rather than a need to gather intelligence.

He talked with Chataya and Missandei, with Davos and Gendry. Their backgrounds couldn’t be more different, the two women immigrants from Essos, who had a winding journey before finally settling in King’s Landing, and more than a few stories of exploitation. Davos and Gendry didn’t come from far away, instead, and yet these people had so much more in common than what it would look like at first glance.

“I am a Flea Bottomer,” Davos told him one night as they were fishing in the open sea, the waves calm around their little boat. “Born and raised. My family lived in the same little house for generations. It wasn’t much, but I loved it. All my memories were there. They kicked me and my family out to _requalify_ the building, by order of the city council. It looks real pretty now, no one can deny it. But I could never afford to live there now, so… here I am.”

Jon couldn’t imagine what that may feel like. His family had always lived in Winterfell, the same old house passed down for generations. It was so full of memories, of the history of their family… his father would have sooner cut his own hand than accepted to move anywhere else.

“We tried to fight it, you know? But Lannister Corp. had offered an absurd sum of money to the city council in order to buy the entire block. We were given a little something when we moved, those of us that were lucky enough to own a property in their name. The renters didn’t get anything, of course.”

“Same with my ma’s place,” Gendry piped in. “She was already ill when it happened, but they didn’t even wait for her to die in peace before they sold her home.” He spat on the ground to show his disdain. “And now they want to do the same thing here. Fucking hell, I say. If they’re going to do what they want, at least we’ll give them a good fight.”

The monument of his convictions crumbled a little bit more every day Jon passed at the manse. It was like a slow, but inevitable erosion, and it scared him.

Jon had always cherished his honour. It was what his father taught him, what his family believed in. Generations of defensors of the law, proud in their tradition. _Always respect the law_ , he had heard countless times. He had stuck to that belief for all his life.

Even when it had cost him his happiness. Even when it had killed Ygritte.

But Ygritte was a _terrorist_ , the newspapers said when she died. A criminal. And sure, she was no saint, Jon always knew that. She had placed bombs at the Wall, killed soldiers in an attempt to overthrow the Night’s Watch, and she had perished in the fight. Jon always knew their relationship was bound to end tragically, even if he hadn’t imagined to what extent.

But these people… their rudimentary molotovs couldn’t really be called bombs. They threw firecrackers at the police just to buy them time to run. They hadn't killed anybody. They just took care of each other when nobody else wouldn’t.

Jon had never felt more out of place in his life at the same time as he had never felt more _at home_. Those feelings shouldn't be possibly present at the same time, and yet here he was, struggling, trying to grasp for some meaning to what he was doing.

He still called Thorne every few days for his report, still met with him every once in a while, but he found himself being more and more reluctant to share sensitive information with him. Instead, he was coming up with excuse after excuse to delay the inevitable. _Not yet, Commander,_ he would say. _Just a little more time and this operation will have an even greater impact. Not yet not yet not yet._

Dany was always busy, and he had to swallow the knot of displeasure at her protracted absence. Whether it be with chores at the manse or working extra hours at the coffee shop, for a few days it seemed like it was hard to see her. They texted anyway, their conversations soon growing flirty.

He tried to steal what moments he could with her, seemingly unable to stop gravitating toward her.

“We’re doing a march tomorrow,” she announced one day. She finally had a free afternoon, the first in two weeks, and she had chosen to spend it with him. They took a stroll on the waterfront, just as the daily market was closing, the soft rays of the sun casting a golden light on the old stones of the esplanade.

For the last five minutes, they had been sitting on the wall that separated the walkway from the port, eating ice cream and admiring the sunset.

“Tomorrow? I haven’t seen flyers-”

“It’s more of a flash mob thing. Couldn’t risk the police intercepting us before we can even show our best slogans,” she winked, smiling brightly at him. “That’s why I’m telling you now. Davos is participating, too, so you’re free from work.”

“I see,” he chuckled, unable to keep the smile from his face when she hopped from the balustrade, bumping her knee playfully against his thigh. “You’ve planned it all, eh?”

“You don’t _have to_ come, of course,” she said, biting her lip bashfully. “But I know you do care about the people at the squat, Jon. And, well, I will be there too, so…”

“So, it’s like a date?”

“In a way,” she winked, biting her lip and shifting closer from him, the little tease. The sun hit her just right from behind, then, making her hair look like a golden halo around her beautiful face.

“Then,” he breathed, enraptured by the lovely blush on her cheeks, “I will do everything to be there.”

He knew he should alert Thorne right away. All evening he debated with himself to take the phone and make the damned call; telling him where to place agents in disguise, ready to arrest the most influential members of the Unsullied. He knew he should.

And yet, even as he cursed himself, he didn’t make the call that night. It would be easy, he knew, but for the first time, a voice in his head told him it wouldn’t be _right_.

Which was absolutely _preposterous_. He was a cop, sent on a mission specifically to frame these guys, so why was he having second thoughts now? He should be glad he could contribute to the arrest of the Unsullied. Of _Dany_.

 _But they’re just trying to survive_ , he realised with startling clarity. _They might not be saints, and there might be thieves and smugglers and people without documents there, but they’re all just trying to survive._

Just as Ygritte did, even if he was too obtuse to understand at the time.

Jon groaned, hiding his face in his hands. The guilt was still too much to bear at times, but now it hurt even more. He thought he had understood her after she died, but in truth… _Not entirely. Dany made me understand._

It was only the day after, as he was already walking towards the flash mob’s meeting point, that he finally made the call he couldn’t postpone any longer.

“What do you mean _now_?” Thorne seethed at the other end of the phone, growling orders to the agents at the precinct.

“I’m deeply sorry, Captain. I was only made aware of it now,” he lied.

“You told us you were close to them! That you were getting valuable information! Does this mean that they suspect you’re a double agent?”

“No, sir, I don’t think so. Flash mobs like this can be… quite impromptu. I doubt there was much planning involved, contrary to what concerns the rallies we saw in the past months. You shouldn’t expect too many people to show up, either, but the most influential members will be there.”

“Including the Dragon Queen,” Thorne growled.

“Aye,” Jon confirmed, even as a knot tightened in his throat. “She will most certainly be there.”

“Alright, Stark. Keep your eyes open and your cover up. No need to blow it for a flash mob while we could still have intel on their next moves,” Thorne instructed, seemingly regaining some of his composure. “But we’re catching her today.”

Jon found himself shaking his head at the thought. He tried to tell himself that he just needed more time with his operation, that it would be beneficial to keep her around a bit longer while he tried to stop their real plans instead of a worthless flash mob. And yet, the idea of her behind the bars of a cell made him feel nauseous. _She’s not really doing anything bad. She’s just trying to survive, to look out for others._

He was five minutes early when he came to the plaza where the flash mob was to be held. He lingered around, noticing known faces amidst the passersby, the Unsullied trickling in. When the time came, it seemed that more and more people poured into the space, converging to the center before the shouts began and the manifests appeared.

Jon spotted her on the other side of the plaza, a scarf around her head and thick sunglasses hiding her face, but her arms were bare and her tattoo was plainly visible. She was shouting chants beside Missy and Grey, but still shot him a bright smile when he joined them, a sight that made butterflies go wild in his stomach.

“Hey, stranger,” she beamed, pinching his waist teasingly.

“Hey,” he smiled back, but his eyes were nervous behind his own sunglasses. He kept looking around, straining to spot signs of other cops approaching.

“Hold this with me, would you?” She handed him the other extremity of the banner she was holding. He bent to read what it said, _All Cops Are Bastards_.

 _Ouch. This stings_.

He suppressed a grimace, plastering a smile on his face and shouting alongside her. It was a few more minutes before the police sirens could be heard in the distance, but rapidly approaching. Thorne would have loved for him to distract Dany just long enough, or to lead her in their hands. He knew he could, given the trust she seemed to put in him by now. But when she slipped her warm hand in his, intertwining their fingers together and giving him a gentle squeeze, he knew he couldn’t do that.

Instead, he shouted for everyone to disperse just seconds before the blue helmets barged in the plaza, and started running with her, guiding her through the dedalus of the old city’s narrow alleys, away from the other cops. He could see that Missy and Grey followed them for a while, steering to another direction at some point, but he focused on the path ahead and to bring her to safety.

When they finally stopped to catch their breath, far enough from any danger, they doubled out in laughter. The thrill of adrenaline he felt now was so different from anything he had felt before, despite his definite familiarity with rallies and mobs. There was a tension in it, yes, that part he recognised, but also a jolt of what suspiciously felt like freedom. Dany was laughing still, bent against his side, hands grasping at his shirt as she trembled. Her scarf was askew, tufts of silver hair peeking from it, her banner discarded somewhere along the road, her sunglasses shoved haphazardly in the back pocket of her jeans.

 _“Oh… my… gods!”_ She took a deep breath, righting herself, but still, she couldn’t stop grinning. “That was close!”

“Aye,” he chuckled, even as the guilt crept back in a slow trickle. “But we should be in the clear now.”

“Yes. Thank you for guiding me out.”

“I have no doubts you would have perfectly managed on your own, Dragon Queen.”

“Still,” she bit her lip. “It was pretty fun to do it with you.”

Even as he cursed himself, he still approached her. He untied the scarf around her neck, letting the silk slide softly against her cheek before putting it in the pocket of his pants. Her hair was bound in a tight braid underneath it, which unraveled down her back. He took the hair tie off, too, sliding his fingers in the softness of her silver locks, watching her watching him, observing as her pupils widened, the purple of her eyes nothing but a thin ring of colour. And then his mouth was on hers, a messy clash of lips and tongues and teeth, the liberation he didn’t know he was seeking before.

Her hands went to his own hair, returning the favour of freeing his curls, sinking in and tugging until there was no space between them anymore. He pushed her gently against an old brick wall, just inside a desert alley, pushing his body against hers as he devoted his mouth to an intense study of her own.

She moaned, hands grasping at his shoulders to pull him closer. If he had the slightest chance of resisting her before, there was no way he could do it now, after getting his first taste of her. Kissing her was a homecoming. He had thought he would feel some sense of wrongness or guilt in such a dangerous, stupid mistake, but all he could feel was _relief_. Like all his life he had just wandered around, not knowing where he truly belonged, and now he had found the place.

Breathless, she broke the kiss first, lips plump and swollen parting in a silent gasp as he pressed his body into hers.

“Jon-” she breathed.

“I can’t let you go,” he confessed, leaning his forehead on hers.

She squeezed her eyes shut, nodding wordlessly before she opened them again. He could get lost in the violet of her gaze. “Me neither,” she whispered, peppering kisses all over his face in a way that made his heart weak. “Walk me home?”

It was a short walk from there, but still, it took them way longer than necessary, stopping every few steps to kiss ravenously, even attracting some reproaching glances from the passersby. Jon didn’t care, though. Rationality flew out of the window, leaving a delirious levity in its wake, a sense of happiness he forgot he could feel.

When they came to her apartment’s door, she unceremoniously dragged him inside by the collar, not tearing her lips from his until he was falling on a bed.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” she murmured in between kisses, her soft body sliding maddeningly against his. She could certainly feel the shape of his erection in his pants, so close they were, and her eyes grew even hungrier than before.

He asked himself the same, despite the nagging voice in his head reminding him that it wasn’t supposed to be the right question. He should wonder if he had lost his mind, he should stop this before it put his job on the line. And yet, he discovered he didn’t really care about that. For a brief second, Jon entertained the possibility that he truly went mad, that he somehow lost his wits during his months undercover at the Pit.

It didn’t matter, he decided. Somewhere along the road, he had fallen in love with the amazing woman in his arms, with the beauty of her, with her laughter, with her kindness and compassion. He loved the smell of her skin as much as her sense of justice, loved the plumpness of her lips just as much as he admired her honour.

Blessedly, all rational thoughts left him at the touch of her lips, leaving his mind overcome by pure, unapologetic instinct. He rolled over her, pinning her down on the mattress. Slowly, he peeled her clothes off of her, suddenly in no rush, mesmerised by the skin revealed, kissing every inch of it until her breath came in pants and gasps. The valleys and slopes of her body forever impressed in his mind, the little moles and freckles here and there, the dusty pink of her taut nipples, the way she skipped a beat when he grazed her most sensitive parts.

He loved her with all he had, tongue and lips skirting over her skin and diving to lick all parts of her, fingers exploring, mapping her body like a new territory he was eager to discover. He loved her with his nose buried in her cunt, taking her off the edge until she screamed his name before he would bury his cock inside of her, too, giving, giving, giving all of himself, looking her in the eyes as they both came undone.

It was only after, limbs tangled together under the sheets, that he realised how overwhelming everything was, how monumental his feelings had become. And yet what he felt was also so terribly close to _fear_ ; his throat constricting, his senses alert like there was a danger approaching.

She had fallen asleep curled against his side, blessedly unaware of his rising panic, her breath fanning softly upon his naked skin.

The setting sun filtered from the open curtains of her window, casting a blade of light on the bed. She looked pale and bright, her silver hair reflecting the sunlight like she was made of the same material of the moon. He was irrevocably, completely in love with her.

And he was a fucking idiot.

Jon was careful not to move, not to make a sound, for he didn’t want to wake her, but his stomach churned and his breath came short, the pain a physical reaction, the skin around the bullet holes Ygritte left him somehow _itching_. She hadn’t recoiled at the sight of his scars, only gently stroked her fingers and her lips over the puckered skin in their afterglow, silently loving all parts of him.

He had made mistake after mistake. He should have focused, he should have closed his investigation. He should have let Thorne catch her.

But the mere thought was unbearable to him, and he would sooner see himself behind bars than doing this to her. Not now, not after seeing what was in her heart, and falling for the beauty of it.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Thankfully, she didn't stir.


	3. The Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been ready for at least a couple weeks, now. Then all shit went down in Minneapolis and we decided to wait before updating, out of respect for George Floyd and all the victims of police brutality at the riots that followed his murder. Reading this chapter, you can understand how we felt it hit a little bit too close to home. 
> 
> I'm still very nervous about posting now, if truth be told. I just wanted to make it clear that this story was entirely planned, outlined and mostly written before the events in the USA. And while we entirely support the Black Lives Matter movement, this fic is not inspired by those events, despite the similarities. It wouldn't be respectful, nor right, to "ride" the historical events we are witnessing to gather attention for a fanfiction, which is why this update has been delayed so. I trust you can understand our reasoning.
> 
> The story will continue as it was originally planned. If the title seems tasteless in retrospect, we're open to a change.
> 
> -
> 
> Betaed by LustOnMyFingers.

The Dragonpit was in turmoil.

It was the month right before the city council election, and the whole neighbourhood was thrown in a state of agitation. Flyers and graffiti seemed to multiply overnight, as well as the occasional scuffle with the police. The presence of the armed forces was more evident in these days, vehicles and men in arms stationed almost casually at the main entrances to the neighbourhood, not entirely trusting going in, but also checking and prodding everyone who passed by. The residents were clearly uneasy.

Jon had an almost constant headache by this point.

Thorne called him three times a day, barking orders and vague threats into the phone. Well, some of them were vague. Others, far more specific.

“Show me some fucking results right now, Stark, or I swear to whatever god that you’ll be spending the rest of your life on duty in the Lands of Always Winter! Even the wildlings will feel sorry for your frozen balls, it’s been close to three months and Baratheon’s constantly breathing down my neck! I will raze that fucking place to the ground if you don’t-”

“Commander, I know what I’m doing,” Jon seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose as an aching pang bolted through his skull. “They’re organising a massive rally close to the elections, they’re pouring all of their resources into this one. We can use this to defeat them.”

“Do not fuck up, Stark,” the man growled before hanging the call.

Jon sighed, sagging back on the couch. He felt _deflated_. His eyes stung, a few frustrated tears gathering behind them, but he stubbornly refused to shed them, gritting his teeth instead until his whole jaw hurt.

It only worsened his headache.

Somehow, the only time he could find solace was when he was working at the manse. There was so much to do, between cooking and helping people set, fixing old furniture and printing flyers.

He felt _useful_. Jon couldn’t really remember the last time he had felt so useful, probably not ever since his youngest siblings had grown up and didn’t need him anymore. He liked the newfound sensation, he liked to feel part of a whole more than he could describe. It felt right, like he had a place in the world that nobody could dispute.

He could almost forget about his mission sometimes and believe that he was here to stay, that he wasn’t sent to destroy their little world.

The intrusive thought would often sour his mood, sudden like a lightning bolt in an otherwise quiet routine, but Jon did his best to keep the angst at bay. When that happened, he would work more, desperate for someone to need him, to provide him with a distraction from his treachery.

He had even started helping to teach Common to some of the refugees, although Missandei liked to tease him about his Northern accent.

“Leave the man be, Missy,” Dany commented once, winking. “That accent’s sexy.”

He would act bashful at that, mostly because it made them laugh, and Dany’s laugh was a pretty addicting sound.

“Don’t look so smitten or they’ll tease you even more,” Grey murmured with a smile, bending over the same table where Jon was sat. He had spent the past twenty minutes trying to figure out a broken toy that had earlier caused a fit of tears to one of the kids. Jon and Grey looked at the two women giggling by the other side of the room, unable to wipe the contented expressions off their faces.

“It’s hard not to,” Jon confessed.

“Yeah,” Grey nodded, sitting down on a chair beside Jon. He looked at the toy, too, furrowing his brow slightly. “They’re special, those two. The brightest women I’ve ever met.”

“How long have you known them?”

“I’ve known Missandei a very long while. We both came here from Astapor eight years ago. We were always close, but we weren’t a couple back then, it took a bit longer to realise our feelings, I guess.”

“I’d say it worked out well.”

“Yes,” Grey chuckled, a glint of fondness in his dark eyes, usually so guarded. “Dany came here a year after we did, and it was like love at first sight between her and Missandei. I feel like she hasn’t moved in with me yet because she’s not ready to let go of living with Dany.” Grey winked at him, then, a brilliant smile flashed in Jon’s direction. “Maybe you can help speed things up.”

“We’ll see,” Jon stuttered, as the guilt crashed over him, ferociously, again. He focused on the toy in his hands, trying to figure out how to repair the damage. “I think I’ll need superglue for this one,” he muttered.

“Hold on, we should have it somewhere,” Grey said, before sprinting away from the room.

Jon kept fiddling with the little toy locomotive. It was old, the bright coloured plastic a bit faded, like it had been left under the sun for a summer. He and Robb had a very similar one when they were kids, he remembered fondly. Their father had built for them a wooden trail circuit, and they would play in the garden, making train noises and arguing about who would get to be the stationmaster.

“Here,” Grey reappeared, throwing a small tube of superglue on the table. “Is it an easy fix?”

“Think so,” Jon muttered, focused. “A piece is missing, but it’s a small one. I think we can make do without.”

“Is this little Dennis’ train?”

“Aye,” Jon nodded. The small boy had looked terribly dejected when the wagons had fallen apart, the tiny plastic link connecting them broken during his playtime. “I think I got it. Here,” Jon held the pieces together for a few seconds and then let go, testing the resistance of his reparation.

“That’s good,” Grey beamed. “Thank you. Sometimes things like these get overlooked with how much work there is to do, but you’ll make Dennis’ day.”

“It reminds me of something I had as a kid. I guess it made me nostalgic,” Jon shrugged.

“All the same.”

Jon liked Grey. The man was usually stoic and silent, his quiet demeanor not entirely concealing the passion simmering underneath. He was smart and hardworking, loyal and honest, and Jon often thought that they could have been great friends in another life. The man seemed to have taken a liking to him as well.

“I was a slave,” he had told Jon when he had asked why he had ended up in King’s Landing. “Well, they don’t like it when we say _slave_ ,” Grey had chuckled. “But when they make you work in the fields for eighteen hours a day, without safety, without dignity, and pay you only two dragons per hour, what else are you?”

“So you came to look for better job opportunities?”

“Not entirely. I pissed the wrong people off when I tried to rally the other workers into forming a union. They threatened me and others. They hurt Missandei’s brothers because they were voicing for fairer treatment. They’re better now, but they chose not to leave. It was hard for Missy to make the decision to leave them, but we just couldn’t stay there anymore.” There was pain in Grey’s voice as he told his story, despite his clear efforts at hiding it.

Jon couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for them. Slavery was technically abolished both in Westeros and Essos, but Jon supposed that there would always be evil people who will find a way to exploit others, despite what the law says. He was happy that Grey had managed to find his own path towards a better life, undeterred by the many challenges that he still faced.

Together, they worked on perfecting their little fix. Grey made a show of calling little Dennis, beckoning him closer for a “surprise”. When the boy approached with his father following after, Jon pushed the restored toy train towards him. The wheels were now functioning again, the wagons attached securely to one another, and Dennis let out a delighted gasp.

The joy in the little boy’s eyes was more valuable to Jon than any praise he could receive from his superiors. It was a little thing, really, but it made him feel like he was actually doing something _good_ with his time.

And the way Dany’s eyes softened as she surveyed the scene, the way she was watching him intently, with such emotion written openly on her face, did _things_ to him.

 _I could get used to this,_ he thought with a smile.

* * *

Summer had finally blown in full. Even if Jon couldn’t stand the hot, humid air of the Crownlands, he liked how the city looked in this season. King’s Landing was huge, and always bursting with activity, but in the summer it seemed more joyful, washed in bright colours that were a rare sight in the North.

Jon enjoyed walking through the old town. He had grown fond of the haphazard, rugged beauty of the Dragonpit, of its colours and its smells, of its sounds and voices.

His apartment was almost at the edge with Flea Bottom, so he had to cross the neighbourhood to head to the harbour, all the way down to the Blackwater Bay. He, Gendry and Davos had been at sea very early in the morning, working until midday, and then Jon stopped by the squat as he usually would, spending a few hours there before heading back home. Daenerys was working, but Jon found little time to lament her absence, caught up in dozens of tasks. By the time the sun began its descent on the dusty red bricks of the old city, Jon was exhausted.

He headed home, admiring the sunset and the richness of its colours reflected on the old coppery buildings. He wasn’t far from his destination when he felt a heavy hand grasping his shoulder, making him startle. He turned quickly, half-ready to punch, and froze when he saw Thorne.

“Stark,” he said, nodding towards the other side of the road, where a small cafe could be seen. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk.”

“Sure,” he gulped, following him inside the place.

“Don’t look so stiff, Stark, I didn’t come here to bite you,” Thorne said as they sat at a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from the windows. “I just don’t trust the phone for everything. Sometimes it’s better to talk face-to-face.”

“Sure,” he nodded again.

“Do tell me you have something for me, Jon,” Thorne sighed. “You know how decisive these last weeks before the elections are. And while it may seem _just_ a vote for the city council, this is _the capital_. Baratheon is aiming to run the national elections in three years, and keeping his seat at the guide of King’s Landing will be crucial for his position. His entire campaign will result empowered if we take care of the Dragonpit problem before it’s time to vote.”

It irritated Jon. Were the people at the Dragonpit only a _problem_? And why the hell should he care if Baratheon got re-elected or not?

 _Of course he cares_ , Jon thought spitefully. Thorne and Baratheon were close, and Jon had no doubt that the Commander was pointing to improve his own career if his friend gathered more power. _Bootlicker_.

Nonetheless, he just couldn’t refuse to give the Commander the information he was seeking. Jon couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen if Thorne thought that he wasn’t doing his job well enough. He wouldn’t have time to send more undercover agents, and he was famous for his iron fist. _Would he send charges through the neighbourhood? Raids at the manse?_

“They’re planning a rally. A big thing.”

“When?”

“Ten days before the elections. They plan to rally from the Pit and tour the entire old town before coming to a stop at the Red Keep. I think it will have great participation, civilians and Unsullied alike. They teamed up with a few smaller organisations that used to reside in Flea Bottom, too.”

Thorne’s eyes lit up. “Tell me more. What do they plan to do?”

“It’s a march. They’re going to stop at a few checkpoints and try to rally the citizens. Slogans, chants, the usual stuff.”

“Are they planning violence?”

Jon shook his head. “No, ser.”

“Are you sure about that? They always had bombs with them in the previous rallies.”

“I wouldn’t call them bombs,” Jon said. “Firecrackers, most of them handmade. They always have a few with them, but they don’t plan to use them unless to cover a retreat or defend themselves against a charge.”

“That’s not a problem. If they have weapons, we’ll make sure they’ll use them.”

“Ser?” Jon frowned, but Thorne didn’t seem to notice it.

“We infiltrate the fuckers. Send a few undercover men to stir things up. To make the rally degenerate into violence.”

Jon could only stare at him, incredulous. “Why would that-”

“Politics, Stark. If we can’t take them down quietly, we have to make them look bad before we crush them. The worse things get, the better we will look once we sedate it all and arrest them. There can be no sympathy for the enemy in the public opinion, not right before such an important election.”

_And you would lay waste to half the city so long as it benefits you?_

He didn’t have to ask it out loud to know the truth. The truth was a heavy weight down his throat, sinking deep into his stomach, making him clench his fists restlessly under the cover of the small cafe table.

“I guess it wouldn’t be the first time,” he carefully said after a tense moment of silence.

Thorne only laughed. “Oh, Stark. Don’t play naive with me.” He stood, slapping some coins on the table to pay for the coffee. “I expect more details in your report tonight. We can’t fuck this up.”

_No, we can’t._

“Aye, ser,” he forced out between gritted teeth.

Later, he sat on his bed at the Dragonpit, staring vacuously at the old wooden chair he had just smashed against the wall. _I will need to repay that_ , he idly considered.

Rage was a dangerous poison, invading all of his veins, making them throb almost painfully. Jon wasn’t a stranger to self-loathing, but he had never hated himself as much as he did that night, after sending the damned report to the Commander. He hated himself. He hated Thorne. He hated his job, the expectations put on him. In a crazy, wild bout of rage, for a moment he even hated his father’s teachings. _Look where they brought me_ , he bitterly thought.

It only lasted a moment, of course, for Jon loved his father too much to truly hate anything that ever came from him. But for the first time in his life, as he stared mindlessly at the stained wall, he considered, _truly_ considered, that maybe he wasn’t meant to find honour in the same way his father did.

That maybe, just maybe, his path would need to be of a different sort.

* * *

“What’s on your mind, you broody man?” Dany asked lightly, her words a breath of warm air on the skin of his neck. They were naked, limbs entangled in her bed, one of her cats nestled somewhere around their feet. It was as close to bliss as Jon imagined his life could be, but for the crippling guilt that suffocated him in moments like this.

“Nothing,” he lied. _Only that you deserve way better than me, and that you will curse the day you met me._

He slowly stroked his fingers along her silky silver hair, entranced by the openness of her violet eyes as she gazed adoringly at him, a soft smile playing on her lips. “Only that you’re beautiful,” he added, this time truthfully.

“Cheeky,” she said, but the smile only widened. She was pleased, he could see, hiding her blush against his shoulder.

She grew quiet after that, absentmindedly stroking her fingers over his scars. “I never asked…”

He let out a deep breath, steadying himself for the tale. He couldn’t tell her the whole truth of it, but he felt like she deserved at least _some_ measure of truth.

“I’ve told you before that I lost someone in the North. A wildling woman.”

He couldn’t look at her, and she didn’t speak, but he took her gentle strokes as an invitation to continue.

“She was with the Free Folk. I was with them for a while, too. Looking back at it now, I didn’t really know what I was doing. She always told me that, that I knew nothing. I realise now she was right. There was an insurgence, Ygritte was in the ranks. I fought, I took three bullets in my shoulder. One of them went really close to my heart, only missed it by an inch.”

Dany traced the scabbed bullet holes with her fingers. When she spoke, there was a reverent softness in her voice. “I’m glad it missed,” she murmured.

He was grateful when she didn’t speak again, letting silence fall on them like a soothing veil.

A part of him had died that day, too, although he had never allowed himself the time to grieve it. The young boy that believed in what he was doing, that believed he was making the world a better place, had died, leaving a disillusioned man in his place. Duty was a necessary sacrifice, he had then thought, one that he was ready to make because someone had to, but that kind of belief was slowly crumbling beneath his feet as well.

Only two months before, the realization would have scared him senseless. What else was there but duty? But now, he could see that there was so much more to life than his uniform.

After a while, Dany shifted, moving so that she was half-hovering over him. Her silver hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, tingling his chest. Her eyes held a warmth Jon wasn’t sure he had ever witnessed in his life, not aimed at him.

Then she bent, placing soft kisses on his scars, making the skin tingle. She moved over his heart, kissing him there, then up his neck, all over his face. She rained her affection on his cheeks, on his nose, on his eyes, slowly reaching his lips with a kiss so soft and yet so determined it made his heart melt.

He couldn’t resist her then, that sense of _belonging_ that only seemed to come with her. He rolled them on the bed, pinning her body beneath his own, relishing in her surprised gasp of pleasure.

“Daenerys…” he breathed against her skin, lips ghosting over her collarbones and making her shiver. “You’re so beautiful. So good.”

“Jon…” she gasped. He kissed her breasts, her navel, the soft skin right below it. He kissed her thighs, feeling her tremble in anticipation. But before he could kiss her lovely cunt, in a sudden bout of clarity, he bent over again, hovering above her face, and gently placed a peck on her lips. “Whatever happens, there was never something truer than this. You are the light, Dany. For so many people, but most of all for me.”

She frowned, clearly confused at his sudden change of tone and ominous words. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he smiled, trying to hide his sadness. He kissed her again, hard, leaving her breathless, helping her forget his own words before he traveled his way back down to her cunt, pleasuring her until every doubt was forgotten.

 _I will make it right_ , he promised to himself as he drove her over the edge, as he made her scream his name, as he thrust into her, as he loved her.

_I will make it right._

Only later, when she was fast asleep in his arms, he let out the words he couldn’t hold any longer. Not because he wasn’t sure of them, no, but because saying them out loud felt like a bigger betrayal than the one he had already laid on her.

But here, in the silence of the night, with no one to hear - not even her, in a way - it was liberating.

“I love you,” he murmured against her hair.

In her sleep, she barely stirred.

* * *

The march was planned exactly ten days before the elections. His world cracked two days before that.

Thorne called him at the central, which was weird during an undercover operation. Nonetheless, Jon obeyed.

The Commander frowned the entire time Jon relayed his report. He didn’t interrupt him, not even once. It unsettled Jon. When he was done, Thorne cut him a steely glare. “We need to speed things up, Stark.”

“The march is approaching.”

“There will not be any march. We can’t let this happen.”

“Ser?”

“These parasites have already caused us enough concern. I gave you ample time to do your job, but it looks to me like you should have been more incisive. Perhaps I was wrong to heed Mormont’s praise.”

Jon snapped his mouth shut, worried about what he would say if he were to speak. _Parasites_ , Thorne called them. Men and women and children trying to fight corporations and politicians who would gladly leave all of them in tatters just to make more profit.

The Commander always talked about these people like they weren’t even humans.

“Do you know what a cop’s duty is, Jon?” his father asked him once when he was naught but a little lad with no clue on the world’s cruelty. “Protect the people. We always have to protect the people.” And Ned Stark had done so all his life, dedicating himself entirely to the people. Jon had always thought there was nothing more honourable than being a cop, just like his father. His hero.

But not everyone was Ned Stark.

“What is our duty, ser?” Jon asked before he could stop the words from his burning throat.

“What is- What kind of question is that?” Thorne asked, baffled.

“What is our duty?”

Thorne seethed, his face growing red with anger. “Our duty, _agent Stark_ , is to do what we’re told! Baratheon told us to solve this _damned problem_ , and that’s what we have to do! Or do I have to think that you’re wavering from _your_ duty?”

Jon felt his lips tug into a slight smile at the surreal moment. He could see it all, now, the absolute foolery he had believed for years, like a veil had been lifted from his eyes. He had always known he didn’t like the man in front of him, but he had thought him _a good cop_ , once.

_What a fool I was._

Thorne wasn’t a good cop. He wasn’t even a good man. He didn’t give a fig about the people.

He only cared about his loyalties. And oh, he was very loyal, no one could deny that. His loyalty lay entirely with Baratheon, though, never with the people.

Jon suppressed a pained sigh as the truth of his predicament weighed on him quite suddenly. Of all the fellow cops he had met in his life, only a few shared Ned Stark’s idea of honour. The large majority of them were like Thorne, or even worse than him, not even bound by this sick notion of loyalty. Some of them were bullies who chose to wear a uniform because it gave them a pass to abuse. Jon had justified the former and reproached the latter, but he had kept on believing that Ned Stark wasn’t the exception he really was. That most were like him, or like Mormont. He had been blind.

He had been a part of it, despite it all.

_No more._

“My duty has never been clearer, ser,” he calmly replied.

“I would hope so,” Thorne quipped, his stance relaxing slightly. “We’ll raid the manse before the rally. You can decide if you want to be part of the charge. You’re dismissed.”

Jon went to his apartment at the Dragonpit, first. His hands were shaking, more in rage than anything else, so he needed the time to calm down. He also wanted to make sure that he wasn’t followed by any fellow agent, so he waited for a bit before he left the place again, this time directed straight to the manse.

He needed to do what was right.

He needed to alert them.

The faint lights of the house were almost entirely concealed by the thick, unkempt greenery that surrounded the building and hid it almost completely from sight. Jon’s plan was simple: search for Dany first thing and tell her they all needed to leave this place. To where, he didn’t know, and he was raking his brain on the issue as he approached the heavy doors, which burst open before he could reach for the handle. The door closed immediately after, Missandei standing tall in front of him.

“Hey Missy, have you seen Dany?”

She didn’t reply right away, and it was her silence to tell Jon that something was off.

Finally, she cleared her throat and cut him a steely glare. “You won’t see her. Not tonight, not ever again.”

“What are you up to? Missy, I have to see her now. It’s kinda urgent.”

“I know who you are, Jon Stark.”

All blood froze in his veins. He went impossibly still, a shiver of dread running down his spine. In his field of work, there was nothing as dangerous as blowing your cover. But Jon wasn’t scared of Missandei, nor of Dany, he wasn’t scared of the people at the manse.

What terrified him was the disappointment in the eyes of the woman in front of him.

“How?” he breathed.

“You have your ways, we have ours. One of the guys saw you meeting with the Commander of KLPD. A bit suspicious, wouldn’t you think? We thought it unwise not to investigate.”

“Does she know?” It pained him to ask, fear at what the answer might be.

“Not yet. But I’ll tell her in due time. Go away, Jon,” she commanded, her voice sharp. “You have no right being here. I don’t want to strangle a policeman in the fields of the manse, so just go the fuck away and let me handle her heartbreak.”

“Missy, I-” he gulped, squeezing his eyes closed for the briefest moment. “I need to talk to her anyway. You’re all in danger. The Commander knows about the march, knows about this place, and he wants to storm the manse before you can rally against the government. You need to leave.”

Missy’s face morphed into a hateful snarl. “It’s your fault, you fucking pig, if it weren’t for you they wouldn’t even kn-”

“Missy! Jon!”

_Gods, no._

Dany caught up with them, coming from the street with a package of flyers in her arms. She smiled cheerfully until she took note of the grim expressions on their faces, to which she responded with a confused frown. “What’s going on?”

“You wanted to speak to her,” Missandei growled at him. “Speak, then. Tell her the truth.”

“The truth about what?” Dany asked. She was growing increasingly nervous, her gaze darting from Missy to Jon.

“Speak!” Missandei shouted, making him flinch. He couldn’t look into Dany’s face as he forced the words out of his throat, could not look anywhere, so he closed his eyes again. “You all need to leave this place right now,” he said, his voice shaking. “The police are planning to storm the manse before the march and arrest everyone.”

“And how would you know that? How would the police know where to find us?” Missandei taunted.

He could feel Dany’s heavy gaze on him, hear the suspicion in her voice as she parroted in a whisper: “How?”

“Because I informed them. I was sent here in an undercover mission to dismantle your organisation,” he confessed.

“No,” she breathed, so low and soft that he believed he had just imagined it.

For a horribly long moment, there was only a heavy silence around him, then Dany’s heart shattered, and she screamed. She flew at him, her tiny hands curled into tight fists hitting at him. She couldn’t really hurt him, and he deserved it, so he didn’t stop her.

“ _You! Fucking! Pig!_ ” she shouted between punches. “I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you!” The manse’s door opened and closed again, and then someone was yanking Dany away from him, but that didn’t stop her furious screeches. “Let me go! Let me kill him!”

“Dany,” Grey murmured, holding her close and taking her a few feet away from Jon.

“Did you fuck me just so you could ruin me better, you fucking asshole? Did you enjoy helping us knowing you would sic the fucking pigs on us? _Answer me!_ ”

“No!” he finally snapped. “I came here today to alert you because what they want to do is not right. Dany-” he gulped, stepping towards her, but Grey shook his head and looked so threatening that he stopped, pleading with his eyes. “You have to run. You all have to leave this place. Run. Hide. You can’t win this war.”

“Winning was never the point, as you would know if you ever cared about us. We have to fight because it’s the only thing we can do!”

“Dany, please,” he begged. “It won’t do anyone any favour if you let yourself get caught. I do care about this place, about _you_. You still have a chance to run.”

“Oh, very fucking convenient, Jon Snow, a magical change of heart right before we’re all fucked, eh?” she spat, such venom in her voice that she almost didn’t seem the same sweet Dany that had loved him. “If that is even your real name.”

“His name is Jon Stark,” Missandei coldly supplied.

Dany spat at his feet. “Fuck you, Jon Stark.” That said, she stormed inside the manse, followed by Grey.

“Missy-”

“Shut up,” she snapped. Missy bent to retrieve the flyers Dany had discarded in her fury, and then looked at him again. For a long moment, she seemed to consider what to say, finally settling on a question. “Did you really come here to alert us?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like what they’re doing. I don’t like what I was sent to do. I… I didn’t expect it when I first met all of you, but I believe your cause is right. You don’t deserve to be crushed.”

“So I should believe you’re turning on the police?” Missandei scoffed, her disdain apparent. “I don’t understand why you’re here. Don’t you think you have ruined us enough? Destroyed her heart enough?” She shifted her feet back towards the door, but stopped again and cast him a last, unreadable glance. “If we were half the monsters your lot believes we are, you wouldn’t leave this place unharmed, Jon Stark. Think about that.”

Jon stood there for what felt like an eternity, dazed, staring at the red door but not quite seeing it. When it became just a splash of colour in his vision, he realized his eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

He waited to feel something, anything. Rage maybe, or despair, or heart-wrenching sadness. Instead, he felt like a hole had been carved out where his heart used to be.

He loved her, and she hated him.

_And she has every reason to._

He walked home, eventually, feeling hollow. His growing anxiety was the only thing that kept his soul from detaching from his body completely.

Was his warning enough? He desperately hoped it would be. If losing Dany was the price to pay for her safety, he would gladly pay it.

He could bear the pain.

It was really nothing new.


	4. The Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a while. This chapter was... a bit tricky. And two of my wonderful wives had birthdays in the meantime, so of course I had to write them a little something! It's just a question of priorities lol. But now it's ready, so without further ado, let's see what happens next.
> 
> -
> 
> Trigger warning for graphic depictions of violence.
> 
> Betaed by LustOnMyFingers.

People were sleeping, bodies lying in the dark, huddled close to each other. A quiet, still peace punctuated only by the occasional snore. And then, suddenly, an inferno of noise exploded, people in riot gear barging in and shouting, beating whoever they found on their path. Jon cried out, trying to shield the people who were being viciously attacked, but the truncheons just swung through his body like it was made of thin mist.

Horrified, he could only watch helplessly as the blood sprayed on the walls, the cries and moans of the wounded resonating in the endless rooms. More cops kept pouring in, like a never-ending stream, but they couldn’t hear him, they couldn’t see him as he tried to stop them. Then a few of the agents started removing their helmets, before turning to look straight at him. He almost wanted to scream when he saw his own face staring back at him, multiplied endlessly.

 _Dany. I must protect Dany._ Running faster than his doppelgängers, he frantically searched for her in the wrecked rooms, calling her name as he stepped over the bodies of the wounded. When he finally found her, she smiled at him the way she did before he betrayed her, such open sweetness written on her face.

Jon ran to her, but when he embraced her, she stilled, her face frozen in a grimace. And then she fell, unconscious. Behind his shoulders, Jon could hear a sinister laugh. “Well done, Stark,” Thorne’s voice praised. “You brought me the Dragon Bitch.” But when Jon looked at him, Thorne was wearing his own face. _The face of a traitor._

The loud sound of banging fists on the door woke Jon. Groggily, he half-sat on the bed, squeezing the sleepiness away from his eyes. It was barely dawn, the greyish light of the early morning filtering through the thin drapes at his window, casting an ominous light on the half-packed suitcase on the floor, his meager possessions ready to return to his real home at the end of his mission.

The knocking resumed, louder this time. “Jon! Open this goddamn door,” a voice shouted. He recognised Davos’ voice. The old man seemed panicked, and Jon hurried from the bed to let him inside the small apartment.

“What the hell, Davos, it’s barel-”

His sleepy mutterings were cut from his lungs when Davos shoved him hard against the wall.

“You!” he yelled. “You betrayed us! And I brought you there!” The old man was crying, angry tears trailing down his wrinkled skin. “How could you, Jon? I thought you were an honest lad. I thought you were _good!_ ”

Jon felt his knees give in. He plopped gracelessly on the bed, his stomach grinding at the look of pure disappointment on Davos’ face.

“They told you, I reckon,” he croaked weakly.

Davos gripped his shoulders, shaking him. “I cannot be this wrong. I know what I saw in you is there, Jon,” he pleaded. “You have to fix this. You have to do something. I cannot believe that this is what you are.”

“I am a cop, Davos. I’m sorry if this disappoints you,” he bit back, growing defensive.

“ _A cop..._ it’s just a job! But you can’t be a traitor, you can’t be… You can’t just let all these defenceless people suffer and not bat an eye! I don’t believe this is you. I saw you. _I saw you!_ ”

“I warned them!” Jon snapped. “I shouldn’t have, but I warned them. I gave them the time to escape. I don’t know what else I can do at this point,” he deflated, hiding his face in his hands.

“You did it too late, boy,” Davos said, the accusation heavy on his voice.

“What do you mean? They’ll raid the manse today, but I told them. I told them to flee.”

“Then your _colleagues_ had no qualms lying to you as well,” Davos said. “The police have already charged. They raided the manse at four in the morning, while everyone was sleeping. Luckily someone wasn’t, and they heard them come. They barricaded themselves inside the manse, but those old doors can’t resist for long.”

Jon’s stomach dropped, dread coiling his insides. “Dany?” he asked before he could even process all the rest.

“They called her when the siege started. She went there with Missy and Grey. She distracted the police long enough for the others to flee from the back.”

“They got her,” Jon concluded, the words barely more than a heavy breath.

“Aye. She let them take her so they could be safe.”

 _Gods…_ Jon felt the tears escape from his lids, then, but it didn’t lessen the dread he felt. In his heart, he knew it to be true. Not that he would doubt Davos’ words, but most of all, he _knew_ Dany. She would do exactly that, because she was heroic, and that’s what heroes do. _They protect others. They do what_ I _was supposed to do, but I failed._

“Jon,” Davos’ voice came again, closer to him. He put his hands on Jon’s shoulders again, his tone far less aggressive now, but still stern. “I know it wasn’t all fake. And I don’t even care what lies you told us, what I care about is the truth you _showed_ us.”

“What do you mean?” he weakly asked.

“You’re not like them. Your care was genuine. You saw everything, and you did help. It wasn’t all an act.” Davos sounded desperate.

“It doesn’t change anything,” he lamented. “I’m a traitor. Bastards, you call us, and maybe you’re right. There is nothing I can do now.”

“If you surrender so soon then maybe I truly misjudged you,” Davos reprimanded him. “Because the Jon I know is a fighter. Remember the rules, lad? There’s no complaining on the sea.”

When Jon didn’t say anything, Davos sighed. “A cop is not what you are. It’s just a job. And even if it brought you to do some terrible things, you’re still _you_ underneath your stupid uniform. You can leave a job you don’t like. You can’t betray who you _are_.”

“I already have. More times than I’d like to admit.”

“Then do it again,” Davos said, “But make sure it’s the bastard you betray this time.”

* * *

Jon ran to the manse, but when he arrived it was already empty. An eerie calm surrounded the place in the pale morning light. As he came closer, he noticed that the only presence was that of the cops. A police jeep was parked in front of the building, two armed agents stationed there. They gave him a stiff nod of recognition as he walked inside, only to find a few more colleagues sweeping the place. “Hey,” he called, nodding towards the younger of them. “Have you been here long?”

“Yeah, we’re almost done here,” the young agent said.

“Where did they take the arrested?”

“To the central, they’re being interrogated.”

“All of them?”

“Weren’t many,” the agent shrugged. “Somehow they managed to escape while we were distracted with that dragon bitch. We got her, at least.”

Jon gritted his teeth, swallowing the temptation to punch the disrespect from the boy’s mouth. He nodded instead, trying to keep up his cover.

He started to head for the central, at first, but stopped on the way there, gazing up at the Dragonpit’s remains with a knot in his stomach.

Dany hated him now, he was sure of it. Who could blame her? Jon had helped destroy everything she believed in, everything she had fought for. Was there worse treachery for one so driven by idealism and justice?

He supposed he could find a way to get her out somehow, but he doubted she would even listen to him. She was far too proud to accept the freedom that came in the form of mercy from the enemy. She would hate it, to be freed only to see her years of work violently undone, and all thanks to his betrayal.

Dany deserved more; her freedom wouldn’t be enough for her, and therefore it wasn’t enough for him.

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of a plan to solve his massive fuck-up.

 _Or maybe the fuck-up is the one I’m about to make_ , he thought. He wasn’t scared, though. He couldn’t keep living this life after what he learned, how he changed. _I’m gonna make it right_ , he promised to himself. He just had to figure out how.

He headed to the harbour, next, where he knew he would find Davos. The old man was brooding on the pier, looking too dejected to do much work on his little boat. When Jon approached him, his blue eyes lightened up with what looked like a wary kind of hope.

“Have you set your head right, lad?” he asked, still sounding suspicious. “Or are you here to arrest me, too?”

Jon didn’t reply to the jab. “I need your help, Davos. Commander Thorne lied to me, too. He was supposed to arrest the Unsullied at the march, not to raid the manse before the protest could start.”

“Maybe he had suspicions about you, as _we_ should have had.”

Jon sighed, but let it slide. Davos had his reasons to be angry. “Aye, maybe. But the question is, why raid the squat? Thorne is close to Baratheon and receives lots of benefits from him. I know Baratheon made promises in case he got re-elected. They want to prevent people from manifesting, they want to suppress the dissent before it reaches the main media outlets. They want to look good, and police brutality at a march doesn’t look as good as sedating the protest before it can begin.”

Davos hummed, considering Jon’s words. “I sense a plan coming,” he finally said.

“We have to free the people who were arrested. I think I can do it, but I also know it’s not enough - not when their fight gets crushed anyway.”

“ _Our_ fight,” Davos corrected. “You’re choosing your side here, Jon. You can’t keep your foot in two shoes.”

“Our fight,” Jon amended. “We have to march. We have to do it anyway. It is not against the law to peacefully manifest dissent, for as much as Thorne likes to pretend otherwise.”

Davos’ mouth stretched in a half-smile. “Now I can recognise you.”

“In the meantime, I get the arrested out. Who was caught?”

“Dany, Missy, Grey, Rakharo, Irri, Gendry and Belwas. They almost caught Chataya, too, but she managed to escape after the rest of the people fled the manse.”

“Good. Do you know where they are now?”

“In various locations,” Davos replied vaguely.

His wariness stung, although it was entirely understandable. The old man must have seen the flinch on Jon’s face, though, for he said: “I want to trust you, Jon, I really do. But you have to earn it after what you did. You don’t need to know where they are. Chataya and Doreah are keeping track of their movements.”

“It’s alright,” he nodded. “Let’s just do this thing.”

“How do you plan to free them? I doubt that being one of them will allow you a free pass to get on our side. There will be consequences. They could kick you out of the force and process you as a common citizen.”

“I know. The point is, they don’t really have much legal ground. Dany and the others are all risking a lot because they’re not citizens. But I am. They can’t kick me out of the country. Nor you, or Gendry, or the others that are Westerosi. We can use that to our advantage.”

“Still, there will be repercussions. Even if we will not be forcibly sent to Essos. Our hands are dirty, Jon. We blew up a gate at the Identification and Expulsion Center, we smuggled people out of it. We gave shelter to people without documents. Those are all serious charges, sadly. We’re all facing the very real possibility of being in jail for a long time.”

Jon sighed. Davos was right, they were far too compromised for citizenship alone to guarantee them enough protection. And even if he, himself, hadn’t broken any law, that was bound to change soon if he went through with his plan. Suddenly, he straightened, furrowing his brows in concentration.

“Thorne has a lot of dirt under the rug,” he said. Davos looked at him questioningly. “I’ve worked with him long enough to _know_ he’s hiding things,” he explained.

“Do you mean to blackmail him?” Davos asked.

“I can demonstrate that he’s colluded with Baratheon. That he means to aid him in the elections, and that he purposely exacerbated the tension here at the Dragonpit in order to do so. I have proof.”

“Do you think he will back off?”

“I’m afraid he might be too arrogant for that, but I have no doubts I can dig up even more shit if I just try. He never cared too much to hide his true motives and allegiances, even if I was too blind to see it, for a while. It shouldn’t be difficult to find enough evidence to compromise him. Judge Redwyne absolutely loathes Baratheon’s guts, and I bet she would be thrilled to get her hands on this.” It was impossible not to know, considering how much time Thorne spent badmouthing the old judge. It used to annoy Jon, but now he was realising how useful that information was in their current predicament.

“That’s… a game-changer,” Davos nodded, his eyes wide and focused on a point right beside Jon. “We were planning to do the march anyway, to show our support. But to have a possibility to get them out of jail…”

“I hope it will work,” Jon sighed.

“Well, if it doesn’t, we’ll hide you somewhere until they forget about you,” Davos smiled, trying to lift the atmosphere with his joke. Jon appreciated it. He felt undeserving of such a chance to redeem himself in the eyes of these people that he had come to know, and admire.

“Thank you, Davos,” he said, squeezing the old man’s shoulder in a grateful gesture. “I will never forget it. This second chance you’re giving me.”

“Don’t make me regret it,” Davos warned. “Now let’s go, there’s work to do.”

* * *

As Jon had suspected, there was enough proof of the precinct’s wrongdoings in the confidential archives of the police. Sam had been able to dig up some interesting things per Jon’s request, and now all he had to do was to put it into the right hands. A lot of the incriminating documents didn’t even have a digital copy, and Sam had found them buried in a forgotten corner of the physical archives. _Almost like they don’t want to risk someone finding them._

Jon prepared carefully for the next part of his plan, donning his police uniform for the first time in months. It felt weird to wear it again, and looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but grimace. Dany would hate the sight of him even more in these clothes, but it was necessary to make sure everything would work.

His first task was to make sure the compromising files found their way directly to Redwyne’s desk. He didn’t trust anyone but himself for this mission, so he went to the Court of Justice, hoping that the old judge would be around at that moment. His uniform gave him easy access to the building, the other guards in the place nodding as he passed and never asking questions. They even directed him to Redwyne’s office, where the old woman took in his unexpected visit with a frown. “If you want a meeting with me, you should schedule that with my secretary,” she barked.

“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but we don’t have time for that. I believe you will want to see what I came to show you,” he said, placing the thick yellow envelope on her desk. “I know you’ve been trying to demonstrate President Baratheon’s collusion with the KLPD for a while now. I think this might help.”

Judge Redwyne eyed his uniform warily, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “And who are you? Why would someone from the KLPD want to give me this?”

“It does not matter. The documents will speak for themselves. Have a nice day, Your Honour,” he bowed and left before he could be questioned further.

He left the Court of Justice hastily, keeping his pace just slow enough so that he wouldn’t look suspicious in the eyes of the onlookers. He avoided the gazes of the other uniforms on his way out, focusing only on the path ahead. Jon’s mind swirled, trying to second-guess what could potentially go wrong with the next part of his plan.

As he approached the precinct, he steeled himself against the odds. His resolve didn’t waver, and yet the anxiety still devoured him whole. Despite the many risky situations he had faced in his line of work, what he was about to do appeared like an impossible challenge, something so monumental it made his knees tremble.

He knew why. Each of his operations so far was like an isolated occurrence in an otherwise ordinary life. Each short chapter had a definite end in sight, a new disguise to match whatever character he had to play. Now, the uniform was his disguise, instead, and every guess as to what his life might end up looking like after today was wild and frightening. The only certainty was that there was no turning back from any of this.

The thought somehow fortified his courage, chin held high as he strolled his way inside the central, mustering his best carefree expression.

“Hey Stark, how you doin’?” Grenn asked jovially when Jon approached him. “I heard the Dragonpit operation was a success.”

“Indeed it was,” he replied with the brightest smile he could sport. “I’m here to transport those fuckers we caught. Thorne’s orders.”

“Oh, I thought he meant to keep them here a bit longer,” Grenn replied.

“He believes it’s safer to move them to the prison. Better security, less risk of an attack from the Unsullied.”

“Of course,” Grenn nodded, granting him access to the few cells that were present in the precinct. _Poor lad_ , Jon thought. He had always liked the guy, and now no doubt he would be in trouble as much as him. Jon would have much preferred not to involve a good guy like him, but his purpose was too important to worry about an internal investigation on Grenn.

Trepidation rose in his chest as he approached his destination. The captives were held in two different cells, one beside the other, a wall in between. In the first cell were Gendry, Grey, Rakharo and Belwas. Belwas grunted when he saw him approaching, while Gendry spat on the floor. But it was Rakharo who spoke, “Nice uniform. Traitors are easier to spot when they dress the part.”

That made Missy and Irri peek from the bars of their own cell. Dany sat against the wall, but she didn’t look at him.

All of them appeared, at various degrees, worse for wear. Jon winced, the guilt growing at the sight of the obvious signs of a beating. Bruises spanning over whatever skin they showed, a slight limping in Rakharo’s gait, Grey’s swollen eye. But what made him feel truly sick to his stomach was the purple bruise on Dany’s cheek, and the split skin of her lower lip, where blood had caked in a tight scab.

It wasn’t surprising. Such treatments weren’t uncommon in the hand of the police, and sometimes, in the past, he may even have been the one to administer them. This time, though, it made his stomach churn and fill with rage.

But he had a mission, and his rage would only slow them down.

“We don’t have much time,” he began, fiddling with the keys to open her cell. “We have to get out of here.”

“Give us one single reason to trust you,” Gendry growled. “How do we know you’re not going to fuck us over even more?”

“Well, you don’t have many alternatives, do you? You can stay here and wait for the process if you want. Or you can come with me and let me fix the mess I created.”

“Don’t play arrogant with me, Jon,” the other man replied, snapping closer to him from behind the bars. “You don’t get to use that tone.”

Slowly, Missandei emerged from her now open cell. She eyed him warily. “I don’t see why you would deceive us like this, not now, after we know who you are.” She cast a fleeting glance at Gendry, then at Grey. “We should go. Without making a scene,” she added with a pointed glare. The men merely grunted.

Satisfied that they wouldn’t pick up a fight with him now, Jon opened their cell as well. “We have to be careful. You have to act like captives for a little while longer, at least until we’re out of here, or they won’t let us go. I’ll need to handcuff you all.”

Everyone seemed to grow quiet at that but eventually relented. Dany was the last to approach him, still steadily avoiding his eyes. Jon had to stifle a whine at the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers, for as brief as the contact was. Despite her skittishness.

“Dany, listen, I-” he muttered, but she shook her head. She finally looked at him, but only to cut him a glare so threatening it shut him up immediately.

 _Right_ , he inwardly sighed. It didn’t surprise him that she would not want to hear what she thought were empty words. She had every right to hate him, he knew. There was no time for apologies anyway, he had to focus on breaking them out.

He nodded at Edd as he passed by, silently apologising to him too.

On his way out, he tried to act as natural as possible, exchanging japes and greetings with the other policemen, although he was careful not to be delayed. Crossing the large hall of the police department, he even yanked on the handcuffs a bit, just as a show, for as much as it displeased them. Luckily, the tension the Unsullied clearly felt at the moment made them behave like proper prisoners, their gazes cast down and movements stiff.

When they crossed the huge glass doors to the outside, he breathed a deep sigh of relief, not quite believing they managed to get this far.

At least, until someone shouted from behind their shoulders. “Hey, agent!”

 _Shit_. Jon soldiered on, pretending he didn’t hear the call. He tried to keep his cool, knowing that they would all be fucked if he gave in to the impulse to run. “Wait! You aren’t supposed to take prisoners away alone! You’re breaching protocol!”

“Fuckers only care about protocol when they want,” Grey let out through gritted teeth.

“He’s on us,” Missy observed, glancing worriedly behind them. “They’re gonna catch us again.”

“Not on my watch,” Jon growled. He dived into a side alley, temporarily out of sight of their pursuers. Fishing a small key from his pocket, he grabbed Dany’s wrists, ignoring the painful lurch in his chest when she flinched away from him. Ever since they had left the precinct she hadn’t spoken a word to him, only glaring like she could kill him with just her eyes.

The hateful glare morphed into something like surprise when he quickly freed her from her restraints, shoving the key in her hands afterwards. “Here, this opens all the others, too. Run, get the fuck away from here. Davos is waiting for you at the corner between Riverview Lane and Hillside Street. Go!”

“What about you?” she asked, finally gracing him with the sound of her voice.

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no time,” he said. The shouts were approaching closer. “I’ll cover you.”

He would never know how to read the weird look she threw him then, before they were all off, running out of sight just seconds before four agents were on him, shouting and demanding to know what the hell he was doing.

He was well and truly fucked, he knew.

For how much his colleagues tried not to make a fuss, downplaying the gravity of the situation for the sake of the bystanders, Jon knew he could not escape them now. He was escorted back to the central and roughly searched for his weapon before he was handcuffed and shoved inside an empty interrogation room.

It felt extremely weird to be on the other side of their tactics, waiting for what seemed to be hours in the clock-less room. He wondered why they bothered, considering he knew all these psychological tricks like the back of his hand.

He slumped back on the chair, sighing heavily, knowing he was probably being observed right now. His plan hadn’t spectacularly failed as he had feared, considering he had managed in his goal to free all of the arrested Unsullied, but he had hoped he could escape with them, too, even if he had been ready to sacrifice himself should the need arise as it had.

Dany and the others had made it out, and that was all that mattered, even if he ended up in such a position. It was the least he could do to amend for what he did, for the horrible mistakes he had made. _I just hope this is enough_ , he sighed to himself, waiting.

After what seemed like an entire lifetime, the door finally opened, awakening Jon from the torpor that took hold of him. Glowering at him from the threshold, stood Thorne himself.

With a sneer, the Commander was on him in a second. Jon heard the sudden shock of skin and bone smacking together at his cheek, the dull _thwack_ resounding through his skull in waves before the pain even registered, searing hot and blinding. But he would pass out before he would give the Commander the satisfaction of a groan of pain, so he gritted his teeth and righted his head, staring into his eyes with defiance.

“You conniving _snake_ ,” Thorne growled, spitting saliva over Jon’s face in his fury. Eyes bulged, face red, he would have made for a scary sight if Jon wasn’t accustomed to it. “I knew something wasn’t right with you. I could sense it. I never liked you, Stark, and now I can see why. You traitor, you backstabber-”

Jon chuckled, making Thorne stop mid-rant with an incredulous raise of his brows. “I may be a backstabber, aye. But at least my nose is clean, unlike yours. I'd ask how Baratheon's ass smells, but your face reeks of his shit.”

Thorne’s face reddened even more, a vein trembling on his forehead, before he emitted a loud growl and lunged on Jon again, scattering punches over his face. Jon could taste the blood in his mouth, hear his nose crunch under Thorne’s unrelenting fists, until he finally blackened out, his face smacking against the cold concrete floor.

* * *

When he regained consciousness, slowly blinking his eyes open, he found he was alone. Someone, who he suspected wasn’t Thorne, had righted his chair once again so that he wasn’t lying on the floor anymore.

He was still handcuffed, though, aching all over, his throat parched. Both his eyes had swollen from the beating, but not enough to completely impair his vision. In the dim illumination of the room, he found himself face to face with his reflection on the one-way mirror that ran along the opposite wall.

He looked a fright. Blood caked on the lower half of his face, where his nose had presumably broken, judging by the slightly crooked angle it presented now. There was a cut on his brow, which he thought he could probably blame Thorne’s hideous rings for.

In all his years doing such a dangerous job, Jon had never looked or felt worse, his entire skull aching with a terrible migraine.

Despite everything, he couldn’t help the slow smile that spread on his ruined face. As he stared at his battered reflection, for the first time in what felt like forever, he could recognise himself.


	5. The Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed by LustOnMyFingers.

__

_"… expressed concern for the unrest…”_

It was easy to lose track of time in a cell. With no clocks in sight, and the artificial light looking the same at all hours, Jon wondered how many days had passed ever since he’d been thrown there. Judging from how often his food was brought, it must have been only a few days. _It feels like a year_.

He sighed, bumping his head lightly backwards against the wall. The distant noise of a television was the only distraction he could access, although it was often difficult to discern what it was being said.

_“… what could be interpreted as a call to…”_

“Hey,” he yelled, desperate for a diversion. “Hey, Grenn, is that you? Come on over, mate! Just a moment!”

The guard didn’t reply, merely grunting in displeasure. It wasn’t Grenn, was all that Jon could understand. He wondered if his old friend had gotten into trouble because of him, or if Thorne simply didn’t trust the two of them too close together.

Even though it wasn’t him at the door, Jon had nevertheless obtained a significant improvement upon calling for the guard: to tune out the disturbance, the fucker raised the volume. If he strained against the bars, Jon could distinctly hear the anchorman’s voice.

_“... the protests have rapidly surged in the capital, not only in the poorest neighbourhoods where they began but even in the richest areas. Robert Baratheon affirmed that he’s not too worried about the possibility of a trial and has laughed off the idea of a scandal, but the Court of Justice confirmed that the warranty notice has been officially registered. Judge Olenna Redwyne has declared-”_

_Gods, yes._ Jon relaxed back against the wall, resting his head on the cool tiles. He smiled slowly, deeply reassured by the news. He had done his part and could live with the consequences so long as it brought something good to the right people. _Although I’m sick and tired of this crampy little cell…_

He was interrogated again, twice. Not by Thorne, who apparently was too busy trying to shield his ass to deal with him, but by Marsh and Whittlestick, the kind of people who made his skin itch in repulsion. He got beaten again, of course, as he would have expected by Thorne’s favourite minions. His head constantly throbbed, but nothing could dislodge the _peace_ he felt.

They threatened him, they shouted, they left him alone in the dark for hours that felt like days. Every time his lip seemed to heal, they made it bleed anew. They demanded to know where the fugitives were, where the rest of the Unsullied hid, what their plans for rebellion consisted of. They banged their fists and yelled until their faces throbbed red with anger, but Jon never wavered.

“I demand to see my lawyer,” he would say every time.

At that, they would soon leave him be, preferring to put their sadistic tendencies on hold instead of letting in an actual attorney in the scene. That made him smile bitterly, too. _Corrupted fuckers, bought and paid for. I should have seen the rot way sooner._

One day, he was woken by the loud clang of a truncheon against the steel bars of his cell. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. You’re being transferred.” Marsh and Whittlestick were standing in front of his cell, the latter fiddling with a set of keys.

“Where to?” Jon muttered, his voice sluggish.

Marsh banged again against the bars, giving Jon a menacing scowl. “To prison, you ass. _Where to?_ ” he mocked.

“Curious, I haven’t seen my lawyer yet,” Jon rebutted, despite not feeling surprised at all. The others just ignored him, handcuffing him as soon as his cell was opened.

“I suspect you don’t even have a warrant for this, you know,” Jon said as they left the precinct. In answer, he obtained a punch in the ribs. _Got it, better shut my mouth._ He bit his tongue to not let out a painful grunt, dreading how much his tormentors would enjoy hearing it. Instead, he set his jaw and grit his teeth, trying to wipe away from his face any visible sign of distress. He would never give them the satisfaction.

While stepping into the precinct courtyard, Jon lifted his head with a smile. It had been entire days since he last saw the sky, and he inhaled in the cool morning breeze, admiring how the dawn was starting to paint the sky in beautiful pale blue and pink tones.

At least now he had an idea of what time of the day it was.

It wasn’t too short a drive to the King’s Landing prison: despite the name, the building was situated outside the city borders, in a dry no-man's-land in between the infamous popular housing offered by the council and an extensive industrial area. From the precinct, it was more than an hour on the road, half of it spent dodging the always dreadful city traffic, the other half a relatively smooth drive, for as much as the bumpy roads would allow.

From the back of the police van, Jon could barely see anything, just the reddish reflection of the sun, rapidly rising and brighter than before. He could hear the idle chit-chat of the two guards from the front seat, although muffled by the steely partition that separated them. His head bobbed against the side of the van while he closed his eyes, the noise of traffic diminishing steadily until it almost entirely disappeared, signalling they had left the city and were close to their destination. He heard Marsh’s ugly laugh, making him wish he could hear the stupid jokes that were surely the cause of it, desperate for some entertainment.

And then, suddenly, the screech of brakes culminating in a loud crash.

Jon braced frantically against whatever support he could find, but he still ended up sliding from the bench as the van came to a fast stop, bumping violently against the partition. _What the-_

“Fuck, shoot back! Shoot back!” he heard Marsh yelling, then another loud clang and the distinct noise of a gun shooting.

Except it didn’t come from the front of the van, but from the door at the back, the one that led directly to his location.

Adrenaline suddenly pumping in his veins, Jon found himself reacting instinctively. He dropped down, trying to keep out of the most probable trajectory for bullets, straining his ears to hear what was happening out there. There were shouts and noises, then what sounded like Whittlestick crying out.

Keys, turning in the reinforced lock of the van’s back door. More shouts, a voice that sounded decidedly feminine urging someone to _hurry the fuck up_.

Then, the bright sunlight blinding him as the door opened, shielded by half a dozen silhouettes standing right in front of him.

“Long time no see, Jon Snow,” Missandei greeted, a devious smile on her face that Jon hadn’t seen ever since his betrayal.

“Missy?” he blinked, disbelieving. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Come on up, we don’t have all day,” she called, leaning to grab him by the handcuffs and pull him up. “Your _former_ colleagues are shit at fighting, but they won’t be knocked out forever.”

Gaping, he followed her outside of the van, blinking at his surroundings. They were in the middle of the nowhere that stretched between King’s Landing and its prison, a wasteland of old industrial buildings and abandoned projects, scattered messily amidst the almost-deserted land. They were alone. _No witnesses, then_.

Whittlestick sat against the van, head lulling as a low moan escaped from his mouth, lip half-swollen and bloody. Marsh laid on the asphalt, bruised cheek against the hot concrete. Jon gasped at the sight, but a man in a balaclava laughed at him, yanking him away. “Come on, Snow, he’s not dead. We’re not that stupid.”

“Gendry,” Jon whispered, recognising his voice.

“Aye. We don’t have much time to save your ass, so if you would snap out of your stupor and hop on…”

Gendry gave him a little push towards an unassuming grey van with no windows on the backside, a vehicle that Jon had never seen around the manse. They all hopped on, the van immediately speeding away, and one by one the faces of his… kidnappers? Saviours? As they removed their scarves and balaclavas, they were revealed to him.

“You alright? You look a little worse for wear,” Rakharo smiled, pointing to his bruised face. “Can’t say I’m sorry about that, I wish I could have done it myself.”

“Rakharo,” Chataya sighed. “We talked about this.” She slid closer to him, extracting a small key from her pocket, one that Jon immediately recognised as the key he had given Dany to free the other Unsullied the day he helped them escape. Chataya silently fiddled with the lock on his handcuffs, frowning in concentration until the mechanism popped open with a small _click_. Jon immediately rubbed his wrists in relief.

“Hey, I’m just being honest. Don’t tell me he didn’t deserve a black eye after all he’s done,” Rakharo rebutted, but there wasn’t much bite in his words.

Grey laughed, sitting down beside Jon and slapping his shoulder a little harder than necessary. “Rakharo has a point, but… it’s good to have you back, man.”

Oddly touched by the sincerity in his voice, Jon had to control a waver in his own. “What the fuck is going on? Where is- where is Dany?” he gulped.

“Up front,” Missandei spoke, nodding towards the driver’s seat, hidden from sight by a metal partition. “I don’t think she was ready to face you, but she couldn’t stay back either. She hasn’t entirely forgiven you, I don’t think, not yet at least.”

“And you have?”

Missandei sighed, slumping back against the seat. “To be honest, Jon… I don’t really know. I think so, or else you wouldn’t be here. Davos told us everything, your plans, your intentions. What you did hurt, that kind of betrayal cannot simply be forgotten… but I can’t forget that you sacrificed yourself to get us out, either.”

“I see,” he murmured, feeling a bit dejected. He could feel the stare of the others, weighing on him, probably wondering if it wouldn’t be wiser to let him rot in a cell.

“I think you had a change of heart,” Missandei continued, her voice softening slightly. “Not only because of Dany, although she had an impact on you. I think you’ve grown, and that your past mistakes can be forgiven so long as you strive to do better from now on. We will be wary. We will be watching you, but you have earned another chance.”

“It’s more than I hoped for,” he said, a smile stretching on his face despite it all. The future was uncertain, his life uprooted by his own choices, but Jon hadn’t been abandoned to face his destiny alone. They risked for him, too, as he did for them.

Grey didn’t say anything, but tightened the grasp on his shoulder in a reassuring way, in what Jon supposed was a shared hope that things would work out somehow. That this could be his new family, despite his past misgivings.

After the bumpy ride came to an end, Jon was led out of the van. They were in the woods, tall thick trees surrounding a vast old house, a bit worse for wear, but clearly inhabited.

“Where are we?” he asked, right before the sound of one of the van doors opening and closing had him turn.

Dany had descended from the front of the vehicle and was now fidgeting, steadily avoiding his gaze.

 _Gods_ , just the sight of her was enough to knock the wind right out of him. He knew he had missed her, every moment after the reveal of his betrayal as painful as a thousand cuts, spent cursedly away from her. But seeing her again… He hadn’t realised how much it would impact him. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but before he could say anything, she bolted inside the building.

“Dany-“ he tried to stop her.

A hand posed on his shoulder, warm and comforting. He turned to find a sympathetic look on Grey’s face.

“Give her a moment. You’ll have time to talk later.”

He nodded, still a bit dejected. In the impossible pursuit of getting his mind off thoughts of Dany, he changed the topic. “What happened while I was inside?”

“Right. I suppose you didn’t get much news in there.”

“Almost not at all. I’ve only heard some bits about Baratheon facing trial.”

Grey smirked, his eyes glinting. “Don’t be coy about it. Davos told us what you did, that you gave condemning files to Judge Redwyne. She already had her eyes on Baratheon, but now with proof of his corruption of the KLPD… it’s a big deal. Thorne is going to be dismissed from the force soon, that much we know, although it’s not clear who will take his place yet. And, well, Baratheon seems disfavoured at the polls, even if they don’t manage to convict him soon enough. They’re projecting Dayne as the favourite, now.”

“Dayne?”

“I know, he has his own skeletons in the closet. But at least he has a more open attitude towards immigrants and the poor. He will still try to get votes from the wealthy, but he seemed serious when he spoke about a change in public housing policies. We can’t have perfection anyway.”

Jon nodded. “You’re right, we have to take it one step at a time.”

“Some steps are bigger than others, but each is important,” Grey solemnly stated. “And what you did was fundamental. Even if it’s not going to change the world overnight, it sent a powerful message.”

“It was especially important to me,” Jon confessed. “I couldn’t recognise myself in the mirror anymore. Couldn’t live with all the hurt I caused. Davos had to talk me out of my head, though.”

“Nobody is perfect,” Grey shrugged with a smile. “It’s deciding to become a better version of yourself with every new day that counts. I just… I _knew_ you weren’t like them. I almost wanted to kill you after the raid, but when you got us out… that’s when I recognised you, Jon.”

Jon was oddly touched by the sentiment. He smiled, shaking his head. “I guess I could do something more. I could testify for the trial.”

Grey frowned. “I think you will face consequences if you show up at court. Between you making us escape and the way we got you out… It will be trouble.”

“I know,” Jon sighed, “But I think it can have an impact. I guess I should talk with a lawyer first, see what I can do. I will think about it.” He frowned then, thinking back to the eventful morning. “How did you know I was being transferred today?”

Grey just shrugged, grinning. “We had some of our guys watching, that’s all. We guessed they wouldn’t keep you there forever, especially with Thorne being on his last dregs, so when they saw the van leave, we guessed it was you.”

“A _guess_ , seriously?” Jon laughed.

“It’s not like it could be anyone else, since _we_ escaped,” Grey shrugged. “We had a few fireworks left. Not enough to do any damage, but enough to scare the driver and make him stop.”

Jon laughed, quite amazed at the simplicity of the plan. “It could have gone very wrong.”

“That is always a risk.”

They ventured inside the house, which seemed to be old, but well furnished with wooden furniture that appeared to belong to another era. It was significantly smaller than the manse, full of people milling about. He could recognise them, but so many faces were missing. Jon ran his fingers along the carved rim of a dresser, wondering. “What is this place? Where are the others?”

“This belongs to one of the guys. An inheritance, I think. It’s not perfect, but it will do. As for the others… we had to improvise. We all dispersed after the raid, but we Unsullied are still in contact. We agreed that it’s better to wait a bit before going back to King’s Landing, see how this trial pans out. It’s too dangerous now.”

“I see,” Jon muttered, some of his guilt resurfacing. They were interrupted by Missandei, who leaned against the door with a strange expression on her face. “She’s waiting for you,” she said. “Upstairs.”

Jon’s heart jumped in his chest. He hurried after Missy, who left him in front of a white wooden door at the end of a narrow hallway.

Jon knocked on the door and then entered before any answer could come, too impatient to wait. Dany was standing in front of the window, her back facing him. Her shoulders were tense, he could see, a slight tremor running throughout her body.

He closed the door softly behind his back, silence enveloping them, his throat constricting. What do you say to a woman you betrayed, yet who saved you? To the woman you love, yet don’t deserve? Words failed him, the air leaving his lungs in a long, pained sigh. “Dany…”

Her shoulders shook with a silent sob. When she turned, though, her eyes were dry, her face tired, mouth set in a thin line.

Jon shook his head, digging his feet in the carpet, overwhelmed by the urgent need to touch her. He knew it wasn’t the right thing to do.

Before he could decide to approach her, she stepped towards him, much too slow for his taste, her violet eyes set on him. As quick as a whip, her hand slapped his face, leaving a pulsing sting in its wake.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he muttered, rubbing the offended cheek.

She stared at him for a moment longer, apparently struggling to decide what to say, opening and closing her mouth a few times. Then, she spoke. “I don’t know that I can ever forgive you.”

“Why did you bring me here, then?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, turning on her heels to go back to the window, her entire body deflating. “To punish you, maybe.”

He had to suppress a wry smile. “That’s not you, Dany.”

She shrugged, not denying his statement. “Why did you get us out?”

He sighed, slumping on a nearby chair, suddenly too tired to stand. “I couldn’t… I just couldn’t. I know I made a mistake. Everything about my stupid job was so completely wrong. I thought it was my duty, that it meant I would be a good cop… I was mistaken.”

She turned again, pinning him under her suspicious stare. “You lied to me all that time. Everything you said… they were all lies.”

“Not all of them.”

Dany scoffed, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. “No? Wasn’t it all a ploy to get closer to me? To the Unsullied?”

“How can you think that?” he frowned. “I told you many lies, aye, because that was my job and I had to hide my identity, my motives. But my feelings for you were true.”

“You never declared your feelings for me,” she muttered. Before he could reply, she continued, “I thought I could see them, yes. I thought we had something _true_. But then, you never said anything about it, and when I discovered who you really were… You used my feelings for you as a weapon against me. You betrayed me in the worst possible way. And you lied, lied all the time-”

“My mission was to infiltrate your organisation, it's true. But then I got to know you,” he interrupted, his voice growing hoarse. It was the first time that she spoke of her feelings for him, even though he _had_ known… Dany always wore her heart on her sleeve. Still, hearing her say it aloud flooded him with _relief_.

It pained him to see that she doubted his love had ever been real, not when it was the truest thing he knew. He was tired of the lies, of the half-truths. “I saw for myself what your fight was all about. I saw that it was right. I understood then that I was standing on the wrong side, but even then, I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I'd never felt like _myself_ until I was with you.”

Dany’s eyes were wide, searching his own intently, the stunning purple growing glossy. Jon had the impression she could see into his very soul. Unlike all the previous times, though, he wasn’t scared of her scrutiny.

After a while, she swallowed, only briefly averting her gaze. “When you freed us, Davos took us to the main city plaza before bringing us here to safety. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it... so many people, shouting and chanting, the news channels with their cameras, filming, questioning… the rally we had planned. The rally that I thought wouldn’t happen after the raid.”

“You gave people a good cause to fight for.”

“Davos told me it was you who made it possible.”

“Aye,” he sighed. “I gave them an alternative route after your original plan went up in smoke. I tipped the journalists so that they would be there before the police. And I guess I kept Thorne occupied for a bit,” he chuckled, pointing to his bruised face. “I would do it all again.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s _right_ ,” he snapped, voice breaking. “ _You_ made me see it. You don’t have to forgive me if you can’t find it in yourself to do so, I’m not asking that. I just wanted, no, _needed_ , to do something to right the wrong I did. Maybe it was selfish on my part, just to clear my conscience before everything fell apart. For what it’s worth, Dany, I am so sorry… I never meant to hurt you, and yet I know I did.”

Dany exhaled, some of her tension seemingly easing. She leaned back against the wall, shoulders slumping, worrying her lip. “What do you mean to do now?”

“I thought you had some plans about that since you helped me escape,” he pointed out with an amused smile.

“I just needed to talk to you,” she muttered, looking suddenly extremely vulnerable. “To _see_ you. To try and understand-”

“There is not much to understand. I love you, more than anything. I was a goner ever since the beginning, I believe,” he interrupted her, holding her gaze as he let out the truth. “I love the way you care, your infectious energy whenever you step into a room. I love the way you see the world, not only for what it is but for what it _could_ be, if only we tried. You don’t hide your gaze away from the ugly, because in its place you see something better, and you work so hard for it… so much that you can make even my dumb ass see exactly what you see. And it’s so _beautiful_ , Dany, the world as you see it. I love you, and I love your fight. I’ve chosen my side.”

“Jon-“ Her voice was trembling. He wasn’t sure if that meant his words had opened a door to forgiveness or if he was about to get his ass kicked.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes closed, before pinning him with a determined glance. “No more lies, or I swear to the gods-”

“I promise,” he nodded.

In three long strides, she was in front of him, grabbing his face in her hands. He could have cried at how good it felt to have her so close.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I understand.”

“But I cannot pretend I didn’t see how you sacrificed yourself to save us. I want to believe you, Jon. That you’re truly one of us, now.”

“I know I’ve hurt you terribly, Dany, but if you’ll let me, I’ll spend every day onward _proving_ to you that I’m sincere now-”

His words were cut short by the blessed touch of her lips to his own, urgent and angry still, yet so sweet. He moaned, embarrassingly loud, chasing after her when she broke the kiss, much too soon for his liking.

She smiled, although there was still insecurity lingering in the shy upturn of her lips. It pained him, but he promised himself he’d make that go away in time, if she would grant him the opportunity.

Dany shifted, her beautiful eyes intent on his as she studied his face, gently scratching his beard with her fingers. She settled over him, sitting gingerly on his lap, her face flush with his. For as much as he wanted - _needed_ \- to kiss her again, Jon stilled, drinking the sight of her, looking so vulnerable as she closed her eyes with a frown.

His fingers dipped in her loose curls, pulling her so close their lips brushed together, almost expecting the spell to break and for her to kick him out of her life. He would work so that she wouldn’t regret letting him stay. He teased her lips with his tongue, shivers running down his spine when she let him in with a small moan.

For how long they kissed, he couldn’t be sure. It felt both like an eternity and a fleeting second, the pace slow, unhurried, a careful reacquainting not just of their mouths, but of their souls. He still wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he would not question her judgement.

“Don’t ever betray me again,” she murmured against his lips, her voice still tinged with pain.

Jon tightened his hold around her waist, hands stroking against her clad skin.

“Never,” he promised to the both of them.

* * *

While most of the Unsullied trickled back to King’s Landing, primarily for work reasons, a few of them decided to settle in the new house and hide for a while, waiting for the waters to calm down. The more exposed someone had been in the riots, the wiser it was to just sit it out for a bit.

The numbers weren’t nearly as high as they were at the manse in the Dragonpit, but the house was lively with the voices of people, the bustling activity now a familiar feeling. It was different from the Dragonpit and yet similar.

The most noticeable difference, though, was the liberating absence of the crippling guilt that had suffocated him for months. Jon had the impression his lungs could breathe deeper now, not constricted by that heavy weight, his entire body suddenly lighter.

Just a few days into his new routine, Jon’s life looked entirely different. Meager, some might say, as he worked strenuously to rebuild both his identity and the community he had once helped destroy. Some things had been lost forever, but his dignity wasn’t among them.

Jon was awake now. Just as he was each morning he woke in Dany’s arms. Her attempts to keep her distance had been thankfully short-lived, her resolve softening the harder he worked to earn back the trust of the Unsullied. While he could still feel the lingering suspicion at times, Jon had no regrets. Change is rarely spontaneous, and waking up is a process. Even the diametrically opposed can be influenced, can _change_ , and he was living proof.

Quiet mornings like this were his most treasured prize, he and Dany a lazy tangle of naked bodies, in no hurry to get up. They would watch the morning news in their bed, the small old television making faint crackling sounds every now and then.

_“And we’re now talking with Arthur Dayne, who takes home a victory with a surprising margin, after an electoral campaign that took a scandalous turn.”_

_“Well, yes, the people of King’s Landing have made their voices heard loud and clear. The support we received during this campaign was simply unparalleled. King’s Landing wants to change, and to lead the change in the entire country. It was about time we got rid of the corruption that has infected our beloved city. To all the citizens that have shown their support at the recent protests, I want to express my deepest gratitude at the trust…”_

“Asshole,” Jon muttered under his breath, curled with Dany against the pillows, his hand absentmindedly stroking her bare back. “He’s making it sound like it had anything to do with him at all.”

Dany chuckled, nodding her agreement against his shoulder. “It was to be expected,” she sighed.

_“... and as my first act as the new mayor, I want to immediately reassure the citizens that have fought so hard for this much-needed change of leadership: the approval of new projects in the Dragonpit area will be reviewed by a council of citizens from the involved neighbourhood, along with the city council. We hope this will open a season of more constructive dialogue between citizens and political forces, without incurring in the terrible climate of criminalization built by my opponent, and aided by the corruption of the KLPD chief.”_

“We won,” Jon incredulously whispered, a sense of relief sweeping over him. “We could even go back to King’s Landing in a while… gods, we won.”

“We did indeed,” Dany grinned, her eyes shining with elation. She laughed, cheerful, drinking in the sight of her neighbourhood from the news channel, of the people in the streets, cheering because they would not get their homes stolen by corporations.

“What now?” he asked.

Dany took his hand in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked back at him, steel in her eyes, just like the night they first met. _What we did tonight is just the beginning_ , she had said then.

She grinned, bright and full of promise. “We keep fighting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe this was meant to be a one-shot when we first started planning it? Me neither.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment! 😊


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